


Snapshots

by Bexinthecity247



Category: Bodyguard (TV 2018)
Genre: David fucks up repeatedly..., F/M, but Julia loves him so...., semi porn without plot, sometimes just fluff/sex with some plot, sometimes no plot, usually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-20
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2019-07-14 17:17:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 31,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16045004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bexinthecity247/pseuds/Bexinthecity247
Summary: A series of (many) snapshots of David and Julia ranging from A/U to within the show's timeline.Some cute, some way OOC (sorry!) and some angst.They won't be connected for the most part, or flow, they will go back and forth, with no linear timeline.





	1. Power Games

**Author's Note:**

> David decides it's payback for Julia dragging him into a toilet to make out.
> 
> (for Halxo)

“And Julia, don’t forget the statistics. They’re all colour coded and highlighted according to year and effect,” Rob was at her shoulder, rabbiting on. He seemed to grow more excited the further through the bowels of the office they got. She brushed at her hair with her free hand. 

“Yes, yes. I know!” she said, waving him away. 

He looked stung, like he always did when she rejected him. Yet he never seemed to get the bloody message! Even before she started screwing David, she’d never expressed any desire for him. And, she reasoned, in what arena could Rob overthrow David as lead bullock. The thought brought a smile to her lips.  
She could feel him, taking the place of the weasel, at her elbow, strolling alongside with purpose, his presence equal parts suffocating and oxygenating. She mentally told Rob to take note on how a real man carried himself, then shook her head at the thought. Rob fell by the wayside she noted pleasantly, pushed out by this hulk of Scotland whose hand brushed the small of her back and steered her around a corner.

“Ma’am, we really need to be en-route,” he said as Rob drifted away. 

“Of course,” she murmured, allowing him to direct her through to the stairwell that would lead to the basement and the service garage. 

No sooner had they walked through the doorway, he pulled on her arm, twirling her to meet him as he slammed her against the wall. He looked at her with such desire she almost melted beneath his glance. He leaned in, taking her lower lip between his teeth before affording her a light kiss. He brushed her hair away, kissing her neck and she moaned when his hand slid under the hem of her blouse, kneading her flesh. She dropped the red briefcase in her hand, where it fell with a clang, and buried her hands in his hair.

He pulled her towards him whilst simultaneously held her, pinned against the wall with his weight. Any irritation she had about being late dissolved away when he unbuttoned her trousers and slid his hand beneath them, probing through her knickers but never letting skin touch skin, no matter how much she tilted her hips. A small whimper fell from her mouth when he stopped, his hand cupping her but still. He kissed her, then pulled away, a teasing smile across his lips that was infuriating to her at this point. 

“Save some energy for tonight.” He leaned in, mere millimetres from her lips before adding, “Ma’am." He bent to pick up her dispatch box and handed it to her, their fingers connecting.

And then he was walking down the stairs, back to professional. She cleared her throat, straightening her blouse and re-buttoning her trousers as she tested her legs to ensure they could carry her. What the fuck had happened to her?

His eyes refused, annoyingly, to meet hers across the crowded auditorium. She chewed on her cheek wondering if he knew how wet he made her. How maddening it was that just when she thought she was the power game player, he’d come along and not only change the rules but the fucking playing field too. A warmth spread through her at the anticipation of another night where he’d have her crying his name long into the night. She grew wetter at the thought of his arms holding her to the bed as he pounded her into a mess of fire and pleasure. 

He looked at her once, averting his glance immediately with a flicker of a grin. She bit her lip. Two could play that game. She undid the top button of her blouse and fanned herself with the papers in front of her as she thought of him groaning her name as he fucked her against the mini-bar, in the shower, in the –

Shit they were saying her name!

A round of applause accompanied the introduction and she fixed a smile, her eyes roaming over him as she made it to the stage. Back to work.

“Our nation is in the death grips of a dangerous enemy, now is the time to stand against that threat!”


	2. Dress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David sees Julia in a dress for the very first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by Taylor Swift's 'Dress'  
> I was quite hungover when I typed this up so please excuse any typos or grammar shit.

He tugged on the collar of his shirt. He hated getting trussed up like a pig at the country show but she’d asked, and who was he to refuse her? It would be their first proper outing, amongst HER peers, as a couple and he wondered just how many shit questions he was going to have to field off, especially from that prick Roger. He imagined Roger and Rob, thick as thieves on their ‘wanting to humiliate Julia’ plot, would probably have something to say about the Home Secretary bringing her former concubine as a date to a respectable dinner.

He checked his watch, seven thirty-eight. Weren’t they supposed to have left at half past? He sighed, straightened his tie for the millionth time and flopped onto the sofa, drumming his fingers on the arm. He checked his watch again. Seven forty-seven, and groaned, leaning his head back to glare at the ceiling.

“Christ’s sake Julia, we’re already late!” he called out to the bedroom, listening out for her reply. None came, and he rolled his eyes. Why did women take ten years to do anything?

“Julia! I said we’re gonna be late!” he said when the clock touched on seven fifty-six.

“I’m coming,” she said after a long silence and he smacked his arm on the sofa.

FINALLY! He stood up, straightening his tie again and turned to face her. His mouth dropped open, his heart pounding against his ribcage. She was teasing a curl in the hallway mirror and his eyes roamed up and down her body. It would be a lie to say he didn’t greatly enjoy the way it hugged her svelte figure. He had seen her in most things from suits to lace lingerie, to nothing at all but this… this was a whole new experience. He couldn’t breathe. He hadn’t even known that shade of purple existed, but here she was, flaunting the most beautiful shade of plum he thought he’d ever seen.

She looked at him, taking in his expression and raised an eyebrow, letting a small smile dance across her lips.

“Something the matter?” she purred as she passed him. He swallowed.

“No ma’am,” he said huskily, following her to the front door, listening to the clicking of her stilettos on the hardwood. “So…erm… is it vital we go to this thing?” She plucked her coat from the hook and he helped her into it. He was so close to her, he could smell her perfume, light and yet irresistible. He was sure she could feel the beginnings of arousal when he stood against her back.

“It’s the Prime Minister’s birthday party, my absence will be woefully noticed, by Roger if no one else,” she said, turning to face him. She looked remorseful and he tried to put all thought of pulling that dress off her and making her scream, out of his head.  “I’ll make it up you, promise.”

That wasn’t helping. He wanted to feel her weight beneath him, writhing in pleasurable agony.

“You look beautiful,” he said, instead, sincerely.

“And that, Mr Budd, will get you laid tonight,” she grinned, leaning in to kiss him.

 

x.x.x

She could feel him at her back, his hand going to her waist as they walked through the most extravagant ballroom David had ever seen in his life. Even the best birthday he ever had, would pale into insignificance.

“Champagne, ma’am?” a man, dressed ridiculously like a Queen’s guard (minus the fucking great beaver hat), held out a silver tray which sparkled with a dozen flute glasses. She took one with a smile and the man turned to David.

“Would you like one also, sir?” Sir?? David couldn’t recall many moments in his life he had been called sir in a non-ironical sense. He shrugged and took one.

“Sure, why not?” he said, and they were through to the main room. She enjoyed the feeling of him at her side, hand on her back, protective and loving, a weighty reminder that they were together. In public.

“What I really want,” he said in her ear, “is to be buried deep inside you.”

She bit her lip, resisting the urge to shiver as his words sent a shockwave down her spine.

“Hmm,” she hummed with the tiniest of grins. His thumb drew shapes on her back and finally they found their table through the crowds. She groaned when she saw they’d been sat next to her least favourite people in the world. She was almost positive John did it on purpose.

“We won’t be staying long,” she said into her glass as they sidled up to the table. Roger apparently had the same reaction and rolled his eyes. David already felt woefully out of his depth.

“Julia,” Roger greeted without rising. His glance flitted over David decidedly but made no move to greet him.

“Roger,” David made the first move and Julia bit back a smile with a sip, when it looked like Roger would self-combust.

“Mr Penhaligon to you, busboy,” he said.

“Oh, calm down Roger, you might have a stroke,” Julia said as she slid into her seat, watching as her ex husband and her boyfriend eyed each other like scrapping alley cats. “David, you know Mike Davis?”

David gave a single nod of his head, one reciprocated by the older man. For as much as Julia was hated, David felt just as resented.

“Sir,” he said.

“Sergeant,” Mike said.

“Oh, it’s …Inspector now actually,” David said, his glance firmly in Roger’s direction.

Julia felt the pride radiate from her without control and she touched David’s arm, claiming him as her own. Roger eyed the exchange with his nose scrunched up.

“So… Roger no erm... what’s her name, Linda, Lindsay… tonight?” she said, feeling a spike of anger.

He folded his arms and rolled his eyes. One day his eyes would get stuck, David thought.

“Lisa. And no, she’s busy.”

Julia nodded her head slowly, chewing over her words. “I just assumed she was uninvited on account of not being legal to drink.”

She shrugged, and David choked on his champagne.

“You know full well she’s fucking old enough to drink, don’t try and swing your fucking dick around trying to play with the big boys just to make a point,” Roger pointed his finger in her direction and David shifted in his seat.

“Well steady on, don’t talk-” he said, and Roger whirled on him.

“Stay out of this! You may have fucked power but that doesn’t mean you belong with it,” he said, and David scrunched his face up.

Julia opened her mouth, her brows knitted in fury and just as she was about to unleash another scathing remark, Mike butted in, his hand on his friend’s arm. Roger fell silent, leaning back in his seat like a defiant child. David looked to Julia who had gone very quiet. He placed a hand on her thigh and she looked at him sideways. So, this is what she had meant when she said they’d never been able to talk to each other without anything but contempt. She hadn’t been exaggerating.

“So … David, you work with Anne Sampson now?” Mike suddenly said after a deadly silence. David was momentarily blindsided.

“Err yeah, yes I do,” he said, straightening his jacket and removing his hand from Julia’s leg. She missed the warmth.

“How are you finding it? Anne can be a challenge but she’s a good boss,” Mike said, and David nodded with a pinched smile.

He had left work early to come to this dinner and now here he was … talking of work. He wondered whether Julia ever got sick of it. All he wanted to do was go home. He was not a show pony, made for parading around. The thought stayed with him through the first and second courses and the mindless politics firing across the table were beginning to make his head hurt.

“Are you okay?” a low voice came as his left and he snapped to, remembering where he was in the room.

“Yeah,” he lied. Her hand touched his and she smiled at him. It caused his stomach to tighten, doing nothing to ease his impatience.

For the third course, she watched him from the corner of her eye and when the speeches concluded the formal part of the evening (and the open bar and dancing started) she rose to her feet, saying, “Come on.”

Did she want to dance? He suddenly thought of a hundred drunk politicians dancing to Taylor Swift or something. He opened his mouth to say something, but she quickly added, “I’ve got a headache” to the rest of the table.   
  
He didn’t need telling twice and was on his feet without another word, bidding his farewells to people he barely knew, and people he didn’t care to socialise with again. He followed her elegant form out of the ballroom.

“What about the Prime Minister? Shouldn’t we wish him a happy birthday or something?” Isn’t that the sort of things people usually did?

“Pfft no, he’ll be three sheets to the wind by now. Won’t even know who I am if I was stood in front of him,” she shrugged, squeezing past another couple until she was in the cool air.

They walked past the valet, choosing a taxi over her driver, and stopped at the nearest taxi rank which was empty. She leaned against the wall, her eyes closed.

“I’m sorry I was a miserable prick tonight. I just… I don’t feel like I’m supposed to be here, places like this, sometimes. Like I shouldn’t be seen…” he said, coming to stand in front of her. She opened her eyes.

“I didn’t want to talk to anyone in there anyway, except you,” she said, eyes glistening with … something. “Tonight was just a formality. I’m not ashamed of you or being seen with you, David.”

He reached for her waist. “You don’t have a headache, do you?” He grinned.

Instead of answering, she leaned n and touched his groin. He let out a chuckle of surprise and just as he was moving to kiss her, a honking horn tore them apart.

“You after a taxi?” a voice called, and the couple laughed, their own private joke passing unspoken between them. The aging cabbie looked like he was tired of driving toffs around.

“Yes, please mate, Mayfair.”

David opened the door, letting Julia in before climbing in after her, delighting in the way her dress rode up. The radio blared with late night Rock FM and the driver made no effort at small talk. All of this was more than fine with David as he leaned over to kiss her, first her mouth, then her jawline and finally resting on her neck, sucking at her skin and lapping at her pulse. She moaned when his hand slid under her dress and trailed the inside of her thigh. He felt the silky smoothness of her lingerie and she moved her hips, urging and longing for him to move beneath the barrier. But he didn’t.

“Oi! Lovebirds, this is it,” the driver’s voice pulled him away from her and she felt instant regret. Somehow the car had come to a stop without either of them noticing. “Twenty-one-fifty please mate.”

“Keep the change,” David said as he handed over way more than necessary and followed the sultry beauty that had invaded his entire being, out of the cab.

The moment they were in her lobby, his mouth was on hers, allowing only a moment to slip her shoes off and unlock front door. She pulled away to put her coat and bag on the counter and he pinned her against it, her back warm against his chest. He pulled her hair aside and kissed her neck.

“Don’t move,” he growled, and she frowned until she felt his hand pulling up the dress, her breathing hitching when he pulled on her knickers.

“They were expensive,” she chided, breathlessly when he ripped them off.

“I’ll buy lots more,” he said as he kneaded the flesh of her thighs, teasing, dipping a finger in before pulling away entirely. She groaned at the loss of his touch.

He unzipped his fly and her chest heaved in anticipation when she felt his arousal against her, his knees parting her legs. He gripped her waist with one hand, the other flat on the counter beside her, and pushed in with a low groan. He certainly was making good on his promise to bury himself to the hilt and she gripped the counter, trying to keep herself upright with each thrust. He delighted in every cry that fell from her mouth and bounced off the walls. The deeper, the faster, the harder he went, the less she could hold on and she reached for his hand, lacing their fingers, her breath thick and fast. He kissed her neck, nipping and sucking at her skin.

  
Just as a white fire built to unsustainable levels, in her stomach, he pulled away, leaving her empty and she turned to look at him. A “what?!” of disappointment, panted out. He didn’t keep her guessing long. He turned her to face him. Her skin had taken on a pale rose hue and her hair stuck to the thin film of sweat that had built.

“I like to see your face when you come,” he said, leaning in to kiss her lips.

He lifted her onto the counter, bunching the dress around her waist and without giving her a moment to catch her breath, he entered her mercilessly drawing a whimper from her. She gripped his shoulders tightly as he moved in and out with expert precision until she came, hard. With his own orgasm, he let out a groan, mixing with her cry. His grip around her waist tightened and he rested his face against her neck, waiting for his lungs to kick in, to return to normal.

She let out a breathless laugh as their grips on one another loosened.

“You’re far too good at that, Inspector Budd,” she said, stroking his cheek.

He grinned, kissed her and helped her down from the counter.

“Pleasure to be of service, ma’am,” he smirked.

“I’m going for a shower, get some wine out will you?” she said before disappearing. He waited until he could hear the water running before pulling out the bottle they’d started the night before and poured it into two glasses. He took a sip thoughtfully and put it down, following the sound of the running water with a small grin.


	3. The Bathroom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David, Julia, a palatial bathroom at Number Ten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Didn't quite turn out how I pictured.  
> Also Lichting is made up because, like David, my art knowledge is limited.

Politics and laughter punctuated his tour of the unofficial art museum at Number Ten. David was bored. He couldn’t deny otherwise and was wandering around some deserted hallway staring at shit art and chugging expensive wine... champagne, whatever the fuck it was. He leaned in to examine a particularly ugly painting of a horse jumping a fence and squinted. What a load of crap, he thought, downing the bubbling gold liquid in one. He looked for a table to put the glass down but here, on the secluded wing, there were none, so he bent down to leave it behind a pillar before drawing himself to full height to stare at a canvas splattered with paint. He grimaced.

“Avoiding the party, Sergeant Budd?” a sultry voice said from behind him and he jumped before he turned to face the intruder, face cool and a small smile dancing over his lips.

“Not at all,” he said, approaching her. “Mrs. Budd.” 

“You know, I think I preferred it when you used to call me Home Secretary,” she raised her eyebrow and he reached for her waist, dipping his head to murmur in her ear.

“Home secretary,” he said, breath hot against her and she bit her lip at the hungry way he sounded it. He touched her arm, refusing to meet her gaze just yet. His fingers trailed up her skin, resting on her bare shoulder, touching her neck before looking in her eyes. She was smiling in that cat-like way, the way that told him she was very pleased with herself.

“Have you seen the great Lichting? ‘Death of Paradise’?” she said, and he raised his eyebrows, feigning interest when she tilted her head behind his shoulder. He turned his head but didn’t remove his eyes from hers.

“I won’t lie Julia – I know fuck all about art.”

She laughed, pushing off the pillar and taking one of his hands in hers.

“No,” she only said but he narrowed his eyes; she was up to something. “But have you witnessed the bathroom up here? It's simply palatial.”

“What?” he said with a curious smile spreading across his face. He let her pull him down the corridor, past the ‘great’ Lichting he thought, and into a corridor with closed doors on both sides. She led him to the door at the end and he suddenly wondered if he was about to be drugged and wake up without a kidney.

She pushed open the door, and behind it lay a bathroom about the size of his and the kids’ rooms combined. Though he wasn’t sure why he was surprised; this was Number Ten after all. And it wasn’t like she hadn’t taken him to places with equally lavish toilets, but this... this was a different universe. She turned to face him when he was inside and leaned behind him to lock the door before she ran her hands over his sleeved arms slowly. 

Julia Montague was not someone who liked to do things slowly, usually. She leaned in, ghosted her lips against his and then touched his groin. He let out a strangled gasp of surprise around her mouth and suddenly she was pulling on his lapels, her mouth growing hungry and more frantic. He met her pace, burying his hands in her hair, her waist whilst her hands went to his belt undoing the buckle and his zip before he even noticed his trousers were around his ankles. He was pulling at her dress when she spun him around and pushed him onto the chaise lounge. Who the fuck had a chaise lounge in their bathroom? he mused as she straddled him, using the chair back to support her weight, she pushed aside her underwear and guided him inside of her. She sank down with a small intake of breath and took his face in her hands. Her eyes were suddenly unreadable, dark almost and he froze, his hands only lightly holding her hips. For a moment he thought she’d stand up, pretend this hadn’t happened and go back to the party.

But she didn’t. She moved in, dipping her head to kiss him, gently nipping at his lower lip but didn’t seem herself for just a moment before she rose up and lowered herself again with a small cry. Behind her was the biggest mirror David had ever seen and from this angle, her dress was hiked up enough that he could see each time he entered her, and it made his pulse thud. She set the pace, alternating slow, torturous with fast, desperate, and he met her thrust for thrust, his mouth on hers until she began to lose rhythm and he pressed his mouth against her racing pulse. He could see and feel the exact moment she was starting to come, when she tightened her grip on his shoulder, and her face, flushed, contorted as waves of pleasure brought her to a trembling halt. She let out a guttural whimper that he loved hearing and he held her tight against him as his own wave hit and he spilled into her with a groan. 

She rested her forehead against his as their breaths, heavy and erratic, became less panting and more measured. He ran his hands up her thighs and kissed her mouth lightly, enjoying the taste of her, the feel of her, still warm and pulsing around him.

“You’ll be the death of me you know,” he said, hugging her against him.

“Is that so?” she said breathlessly, pulling back to see his expression. He was smiling in that way that made her melt under the pure strength of it. 

“Can we go home now?” he asked. Her face became clouded again and she lifted herself off him. Something wet slid down her thigh and she ducked into the toilet cubicle. 

“I’m sorry, we just have to stay a bit longer,” she said, and he leant back with a sigh. When she reappeared, he was pulling his boxers and trousers up, without bothering to clean himself up; he preferred to let the feel of her linger on him. 

“I just really want to rip that fucking dress off of you, that’s all,” he shrugged, watching her check her appearance in the oversized mirror before turning to him. She slipped his belt back into place, making sure to touch him in the most delicious ways possible before smirking. She kissed his lips and turned to look away, but he pulled her back, holding her cheek, and his tongue diving into her mouth. It left her breathless and she leaned into him even as he was pulling away. She licked her lip, savouring the taste of him and he walked to the door, adjusting his tie and shirt before stopping to watch her reapply her lipstick and puff up her hair, teasing her curls back into place.

“Oh darling, you wouldn’t be angry if I decided to go for Prime Minister after all, would you?” she said nonchalantly as if she was ordering dinner. He haltered, hand hovering awkwardly by the handle. He considered the question with a frown. Did he mind? he wondered.

“Why would I be angry?” he said, and she stopped puffing her hair to look at him, uncharacteristically at a loss for words.

“Well, I mean … we’ve never discussed it since... everything...” she shrugged.

“If it means I can fuck you in every room in this house, I’m all for it,” he said, his voice husky, low and in that dangerous tone that always brought a quiver to her knees. Her face broke first into a sultry smirk then less passion, more love.

“There are many rooms in this house,” she grinned as she strode past him, pushing the door open with a satisfying wiggle of her hips, and walked into the empty corridor. “I’m sure you can really have your way with me.” 

“Yes Ma’am,” he said as he walked out behind her, a grin twitching on his lips.


	4. Jealous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julia Montague didn't do jealous. So why was she acting like this?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on a prompt from a long list of 250 prompts.  
> The prompt was "Do you want me to go?"  
> Anyway - I twisted it so Julia is a jealous, raging mess.

He’d gone to see Vicky (against his better judgement) instead of spending another evening tangled up in Julia’s bed and it had been a total waste of time. For a moment he’d been convinced she wanted to work things out but when he got there, he realised he’d been wrong, yet again and then he fucked it up. 

So now, standing on the other side of the adjoining door, holding cheap wine, he wondered if she’d ever open the bloody door. When it finally opened, her expression was grave, angry almost. He held out the wine and mustered a small smile. 

“So... my evening was a total bust. Thought we could try and salvage the rest of it, together...” he said lightly but something in her face told him he’d said something wrong. He faltered, this wasn’t like her. 

She didn’t say anything, just took the wine, stepped aside and turned her back on him. She sidled over to the counter and he followed her in, his smile fading as fast as the good feeling he usually got from being in her orbit was becoming soured. He watched her pull two glasses from the tray of different drinking receptacles and he suddenly felt like an unwelcome stranger, like the ground had shifted beneath them yet again. 

“Jul-” he started, however she wanted to take the lead. 

“How’s your wife?” she said, pouring the golden wine into the two chosen glasses without facing him. 

The question and its implication stunned him. She sensed his hesitation and took a sip of the wine, grimacing as the taste of it burned her tongue. 

“PC Fenton mentioned you went to see her... since it’s your night off,” she said, her eyes bore into the wall, refusing to let him see inside her. 

He frowned and leaned around her to take a glass. Her head turned in his direction but still her eyes wouldn’t meet his. She was being deliberately cold, and he didn’t know why. 

“I err... yeah she’s fine,” he said, sipping the wine. God it was terrible, and he was almost embarrassed that he had presented it to her. 

“Good,” she said, moving away from him. 

Was she jealous? Surely Julia Montague didn’t get jealous, he thought as she lowered herself on the loveseat that they hadn’t made good use of...yet. Her glance rested lazily on the stack of files on the table and she offered no further comment, leaving him standing awkwardly by the counter, watching her flick through papers and reports that no doubt told of horrendous terrorist statistics. He put his wine down and thrust his hands in his pockets. 

“You seem busy... distracted...” he said, and she looked up at him, brows knitted together. He inclined his head to the paperwork and she followed his gaze, widening her eyes in recognition. She picked at one of the reports. 

“Oh … yes...” she shrugged, letting it fall back onto the table. She crossed her legs, uncrossed them. “So, you’ve decided to work things out with your wife.” 

It wasn’t a question, more of an accusatory statement and it was his turn to be confused. What the fuck had gotten into her? He opened his mouth, closed it again. Her leopard like glance that never missed anything, remained fixed on his face, her lips, ones he’d kissed a thousand times, fixed firmly in a tight line. Was he trying to work things out with Vicky now? He had been … had even gone there tonight because he thought that’s what she had wanted but was it what he wanted now? 

He couldn’t possibly answer without spilling a million secrets and so he turned away, the bite of the bitter wine tingling on the roof of his mouth. She made an audible hum and averted her eyes. He clenched his jaw. He was sick of being pushed and pulled by every woman he knew, and he was fed up of her games. 

“Listen, do you want me to go?” he said bluntly, pointing to the still open door to his room. Her non-response was all he needed, and he scoffed, crossing the room away from her and when he got to the threshold, her voice drew him to a halt. 

“You know, this is a truly awful wine, David,” she said with a dry laugh, her head tilted towards him. He had never seen her like this. 

“I know,” he finally said, purely just for something to test his own voice, and cut the electric air. “Goodnight ma’am.” 

And then he was walking through the door, pulling it closed behind him. He hated feeling like he was in a constant earthquake epicentre, where she was likely to shake the ground beneath him whenever she felt like it and he wondered if perhaps it was time to end this little waltz they were dancing for he knew that, whatever this was, it was not going to end well for either of them. 

-x-x- 

She hadn’t locked the door, couldn’t bring herself to in case he came back. Of course, he didn’t. They never did once she’d pushed them away. She felt a spike of disappointment; she thought he was different. But she would not dwell on it. Instead she polished off the entire bottle of wine, vile as it was, for he’d brought it to her, and because she had already exhausted the mini-bar twice that week already. She didn’t need people thinking she had a problem with alcohol on top of everything else. 

The papers on the desk before her made the building pressure behind her eyes pulse steadily along to a painful headache and she pinched the bridge of her nose before her glance travelled unwillingly to the door. She wondered what he was doing. Probably on the phone to his wife, she thought bitterly. Why was she doing this? Julia was never a jealous woman, even when Roger was fucking everything that moved during the death throes of their disastrous marriage. She was never jealous then so why was this getting under her skin? Not enough sleep, she surmised though she instantly knew it to be a lie. And HE was partly to blame for that too! She thought. And still her eyes wouldn’t move from the thin black door separating pain and pleasure. Her heart pounded, her breaths coming heavy and uncontrollably. She waited a full five seconds before she swept the entire contents from the desk with a strangled cry, watching as papers that detailed some of the most important reports in the country, fell to the floor like perverse snow. 

He’d heard her tantrum from the other side, but instead of responding, he simply increased the volume on the TV and sipped at his expensive mini-bar beer. He had no energy to deal with her histrionics tonight and kept his attention on David Attenborough discussing the merits of blue whales. But... that was the thing about Julia; she wasn’t one for dramatic displays of emotion, was she? The niggling thought burrowed deep and he increased the volume to almost deafening levels but still it wouldn’t leave him. 

His professional instinct should have been to go in, check she was not in danger and come back to his ten-ninety-nine beer and this shit show on bloody whales. But the only instinct rising in him was to bend her over the bed and fuck her until he forgot who he was. He curled his fist up and rose from the bed, arching his stiff muscles. He should have gone to sleep when he left her, but he was finding it harder to fall asleep these days knowing she was on the other side … alone. 

As he passed the bedside cabinet, he dropped the beer down, his hand going to the handle, hovering over it dangerously. He knew it was unlocked but he couldn't work out why he was doing this again, why he was about to enter the arena again. She pushed and pulled, over and over like he was a fish on a line. And he didn’t know why he let her. But deep down, part of him enjoyed the chase... didn’t he? He certainly enjoyed what came when he caught her, there was no doubt about that. She was an infection in his blood that he didn’t think he wanted the cure for. 

The handle twisted down when his hand was millimetres away from it and he frowned as it was pulled open, revealing her solemn face. He thought he’d know what to say when he walked into her room, but she’d preempted him, put him on the backfoot, yet again. Something in her eyes unnerved him. 

“I don’t do second best,” she said. So, she WAS jealous. It was not quite accusatory, but he felt a stab in his chest regardless. He had no answer, what could he say? They weren’t a couple, he wasn’t cheating on her and yet the idea that she was jealous, thrilled him. 

He leaned in, kissing her firmly and cupping her cheek to pull her face towards him. The other clutched at her hip tightly and her arms snaked around his neck, happy to receive the onslaught of his affections. They crashed against the sideboard, sending glasses jangling against each other noisily. But neither broke apart. She pushed his shirt off, clutching at his biceps as he pulled at the buttons on her trousers. Julia used him as leverage to hold herself up, so he could slide her trousers and knickers down before his mouth was on hers once more. Her lips went slack, and she hummed a moan when his hands went under her blouse, trailing over her hot bare skin. 

Without speaking, he picked her up, burying his face in her neck as she wrapped her legs around his waist and he carried her to the bed effortlessly like lovesick teenagers. He lowered her down, breaking contact so he was towering over her, and pushed his boxers down, all the while maintaining her intense gaze with his own. She let out the smallest of mews when he finally leaned in and gave her what she wanted, inducing a sensory overload for them both. The smell of her perfume swam around his head, and the weight of him on her, and inside her blocked any rational thought. He let out a groan. He was buried so deep inside her, he wasn’t sure where he ended, and she began, and he couldn’t recall ever feeling that with Vicky. It was raw, and animalistic but also tender and loving when she clutched him, cried his name quietly, as they rocked, nipped and panted their way to the finish line. 

He let her win, always trying to let her come first, and when it was done, they collapsed into an exhausted, sated pile of limbs and heavy breaths. He felt a pulsing in his chest when he looked at her post-coital, her face covered in a rosy hue and he rested his forehead against hers. She was trembling still, and he held her hip, tracing small circles against her skin with his thumb. Her eyes were closed, a small smile still stuck to her face and he wanted to tell her that she was never second best to him, but he remained silent.


	5. Displaced Power

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm not even sure what this is.. I had it written for part of a potentially bigger story before 'Episode 4' happened and never finished it.  
> It's basically porn without plot to be honest - but I reworked it to be about the first time David calls her Julia and just sort of carried it from there.  
> So yeah... it's not Shakespeare haha.
> 
> For Misswritingobsessed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One day I WILL write a piece that has no sex involved, I promise haha

The air hung heavy with the memory of her purring his name at the moment he drove her beyond the edge of the cataclysmic cliff they’d been panting steadily towards. He’d been surprised by her and the way she seemed so vulnerable, so willing and human beneath his touch. She had seemed both nervous, yet skilled all at the same time, like she just needed someone to show her that she mattered beyond her politics. And that was where David’s problem laid, because on paper he should hate her, and everything she stood for. Yet in the flesh, there was a tenderness to her, a vulnerability that drew him to her. He couldn’t ignore the way she gripped his hand and closed her eyes when she came. The growing confliction was beginning to weigh down on him. 

The first time she had opened that hotel door, so unsure of herself, he had swept her into him and held her against the desk as he made a false promise to protect her at whatever cost. He hadn’t meant it then, his friend’s death still reeling in his mind. They were all so damaged by a war she advocated but now... looking over at her flushed face, a thin film of sweat covered her naked body, and her eyes hooded as sleep threatened to overcome her, he knew he’d die to protect her, at least for the moment. 

He rolled onto his side, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair from her face. She didn’t acknowledge the gesture. 

“What are you thinking about, Julia?” he said, voice barely above a whisper as he ran his fingertips along her bare arm and along her collar bone, trailing under the sheet she held loosely around herself. It had rolled off his tongue and he hadn’t meant to say it but once he had, he savoured the way it sounded on his lips. He felt her tense and he took his hand away. 

It was the first time anyone had said her name with such warmth, such tenderness since the early years of her marriage and the softness of it made her eyes water and she first turned away from his touch before pulling herself out of the bed, taking the satin sheet with her and leaving him exposed to the cool air. 

“I need a shower,” she said, leaving him frowning as he propped himself up to look at her. He watched her go and when she shut the bathroom door with a definitive click, he flopped back onto the bed with a sigh. He waited until he heard the water running before he slid from the bed that felt like a warm shell and plucked his discarded clothing from the positions on the floor they’d landed in last night's frenzy, dressing almost as quickly as he’d undressed and approached the door. He rapped on it only once, leaning against the doorframe 

“Ma’am, if you don’t need anything else, I’ll be next door,” he awaited a response over the cascading water, but none came. He slung his jacket over his shoulder, set his jaw squarely and crossed the threshold into his own room, pulling her door closed behind him, his fist clenching and unclenching at his side. 

It was still the early hours and he figured a few hours sleep was better than nothing, though when he fell to the bed that felt cold, he realised sleep was not going to come easily as he played out the past four hours over and over in his mind like a faulty film reel; his mouth against hers, her naked skin brushing against him and the way she felt as he moved inside her, delicate and slow one minute and fast and hungry the next. He screwed his eyes up shut and groaned. He heard her bathroom door open, his fine hearing attuned to any differential sounds among the echoing rooms and he sat up, imagining her walking her way around to her side of the bed, drying herself off before sliding between the sheets where she would sleep like a log. Yet here he was, anger, confusion, lust even, coursing through his veins and he knew then that sleep was a hopeless dream. 

-x-x- 

The first thing Julia noticed when the light from the window burned her eyes, was a long-forgotten ache between her thighs. It wasn’t that she’d been abstinent from sex but rather that she couldn’t remember the last time someone had made her feel alive, had made her feel like sleeping with her was out of desire rather than some sycophantic obligation. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had expended so much energy on making her feel good before they let themselves succumb. But he had done just that, almost as if the sound of her cries and whimpers were what drove him. 

She blinked twice at the ceiling and finally, when her armour was back in place, she rolled out of the bed and investigated the wardrobe for the most suitable outfit she could find. When she caught her appearance in the mirror, she groaned. Her hair was tussled wildly, both from her pleasurable writhing and the agonising tossing and turning that had followed, and dark circles had set in under her eyes. She looked tired, mentally as well as physically but with the right make-up, and steely smile, no-one but her would ever know. 

When she opened the door, he was there, waiting and she jumped, only barely noticeable but she hated the way he put her on edge. This was not a social call; he was waiting to take her to her interview, one she dreaded, considering the terror attack on that school. She took a breath to steady herself. 

“Morning ma’am,” he said coolly, and she swept past him, deliberately avoiding brushing past the hands that had held her arms above her head last night. 

“Morning David,” she murmured, equally icily. He followed her from the building and into the waiting car diligently, his anger simmering under the surface but buried just deep enough that he didn’t lose control. He watched her slip right back into the bitch role she played so well, the one he hated. Maybe this was the real her, maybe she was just an ice-cold sociopath willing to consume and destroy everything in her path, he thought. Perhaps the false role she played was the one which had her whimpering his name long into the night as their worlds caught alight. But there was nothing false in the way she looked at him as he pressed his entire weight down on her, into her. He shook his head, angered by the amount of time he was spending thinking about her. He cast his glance firmly on the passing world outside, determined to keep her infuriatingly beautiful face out of his head. 

She looked up from her paperwork, frowning as she watched him converse in clipped tones with her new driver, who took a sudden right. 

“Where are we doing? The studio is north.” She lifted her pen from the page (not that she had written anything anyway) and her glance was full of irritation. He eyed her in the mirror, annoyingly passive as always. 

“With all due respect ma’am, my job is to ensure your safety. I believe altering the route we take regularly is a key part of that,” he said, and she could now see the driver, whom was unused to the way the pair worked, hesitating, looking from her reflection in the mirror, to the man beside him. 

“Fine. Derek, do as Sargeant Budd says,” she said wearily, and David felt an odd sense of victory. 

 

-x-x- 

The interview was painful, and biased against her but David offered no words, kind or otherwise, when they got to the hotel as dusk set, simply bid her a goodnight in that formal, clipped tone of his and retreated to his room. It nearly killed her to know that he was on the other side of the door and when she finally plucked up the courage, she tentatively stretched out, pulling her side of the adjoining door open but she was dismayed to see he had closed his side, something he hadn’t done before. She tried the handle anyway, something unsavoury rising in her when she discovered it locked. She dropped her hand from the handle like it were on fire. 

“I need to go out,” she said to the surly hulk of a policeman outside her room. 

“I’m sorry ma’am, you’ll need to be escorted if you want to leave,” he said and to his credit, his did seem genuinely apologetic. It didn’t stop her feeling suffocated. 

“I just want to go to the fucking shop!” she said, slamming her hand on the doorframe. 

“I’m sorry ma’am, I’ve been instructed that you’re not able to leave unescorted. We could get Sargeant Budd to take you, if you’d like...” the officer said sheepishly. But it didn’t appease the feeling growing inside her. 

“No!” she said. Too sharply, she thought, when she saw the flicker of something across the other man’s face. “I don’t want to be escorted.” 

“I can get one of the PCSOs to go for you, ma’am, if there’s something you need,” the officer said, and she couldn’t help but notice the way his hands never moved from the assault rifle he carried around his neck. She sighed and looked up at the ceiling. 

“Fine. I want a bottle of wine. White,” she said, trying to ignore the look of surprise across his face. “And not some crap Sainsburys two for one deal either,” she added waspishly. 

The officer nodded without commenting on her need for alcoholic stimulus. 

“I’ll get someone right on it, ma’am,” he said, and she retreated into the hollow room, full of resignation. 

She all but fell onto the bed and stayed there, staring up at the ceiling as seconds and minutes trickled away like sand through an hour glass until a rapping came on the door. She snapped her head up in surprise and she despaired at the way her heart fluttered painfully in her chest as just for a moment, she wondered if he had come to her. She jumped up, quickly realising the noise came from the main door and not his, and she pulled it open, fighting the sinking feeling of burning disappointment as she came face to face with her new ‘friend’. 

One of his hands was tight around his rifle, dutiful as ever, the other clasped around the neck of a bottle. He brought it up to eyeline and she mustered as big a smile of appreciation as she possibly could, which wasn’t very big at all, and took it, shutting the door on the outside world. She poured the liquid into a glass tumbler and cradled it before first sipping from it, then gulping it down. When the glass was empty, she poured another but didn’t drink it. Instead she stared at the adjoining door, senses dulled by the amber warming her blood. 

She tried, and failed, to hold her gaze elsewhere but she couldn’t stop the magnetising thought of him being on the other side. Perhaps he was already asleep, perhaps not. She swiped up the bottle and knocked fiercely on the door. She waited a full five minutes before she accepted defeat and turned her back when it creaked open. She looked back to see him staring at her with that sullen, intense glance. His shirt hung open revealing his vest beneath and the hotblooded woman in her made her eyes roam over his physique. Everything told her what they were doing was wrong, but she couldn’t bring herself to put an end to it. 

“Ma’am,” he said, all business. She swallowed her wounded ego and held up the wine. 

“I thought you might need some refreshments, David,” she said, mustering a coy smile. He raised an eyebrow. 

“It seems you’ve already made good use of the wine, ma’am,” he said but when she looked at his mouth, she could see the faintest flicker of a smile. 

He took two steps into the room, the door hanging open to signify what they shouldn’t and should be doing. 

“Yes,” she only said, and he nodded pursing his lips. Just when he was within touching distance, he pulled back, expression turning stony. 

“I-” he said, averting her gaze. “I’m not sure if I offended you... last night using your first name, it just feels a bit weird calling you ma’am whilst we’re …" 

She shook her head and put the bottle on the sideboard. 

“I wasn’t … offended. And it’s okay,” she said, looking from her hands to the glasses on the side that suddenly seemed like the most interesting things in the world. She looked over her shoulder at him, though their eyes never connected. “to call me Julia... I mean.” 

She was breathless and felt an absurd urge to cry. She’d never felt so raw as he came up behind her and she could feel his breath on the back of her neck. But still she wouldn’t turn around. 

“You won’t run away this time?” he murmured near her ear. Had his hand not been grazing hers, stilling it against the sideboard and sending a tingling shooting through her veins, she might have argued his point that she had run away. She tried again to contradict him as he raised his other hand to push the hair away from her neck, bending to kiss her neck. He littered small fiery kisses to the skin on the back of her neck before moving to the side, running his tongue against the skin there. 

“No,” she whispered, trembling beneath his touch. His hand slipped beneath her shirt and grazed her collarbone, drawing a whimper as he finally turned her to face him. 

He lifted her chin forcing her eyes to meet his and he caressed her cheek. Her hands went to his arms, gripping his biceps when he leaned in and kissed her once before pulling away and dropping to a crouch. She let out a gasp as he unzipped her trousers and slid them down, leaning in to kiss her inner thighs. He lifted the hem of her shirt, stretching his fingertips across her bare stomach before snaking to grip her waist. She buried her hand in his hair, pulling on it in a way that brought a hiss to his lips, but his kisses continued their assault on her bare flesh. Finally, he couldn’t abstain any longer and he rose back up to full height, his mouth back on hers aggressively. With effortless strength, he hoisted her up onto the countertop to the sound of her surprised yelp, where the glasses teetered when he crashed against her. 

Her pushed off her blazer and her hands dug into his shirt, nails leaving imprints on his skin he was sure. But he didn’t care, could only focus on her pants hot against his cheek as she leaned in, fumbling with his belt and zip. He groaned when her hands reached under his boxers and he stilled her movement, his eyes boring deep into hers. She opened her mouth and he nipped at her lower lip, slid aside her knickers and pushed into her, drawing a muted cry from her when her hips bucked against his. 

He ploughed into her over and over, pushing her further to the edge of oblivion as her head dropped to his shoulder and she whimpered pitifully. She hated how weak the noise sounded but he gladly held her up when her legs began to buckle under the weight of pleasure, before he suddenly stopped. Julia grunted in frustration, which was swallowed by her surprise when he swept her up, clutching her legs tight around his waist and carried her to the bed. This was a new move for him, she mused, as her back hit the mattress and she pulled him with her, her mouth open and waiting. 

He didn’t make her wait long, leaning in to brush his lips against hers, tentatively, gently at first but increasing in passion and fire as he moved expertly between her legs. She was coming undone at his hands and gladly, as he pushed in and out, creating a rhythm that vibrated through every bone in her body. He drew her to the edge, pulling her back from the precipice, over and over until her face was flushed, her hair stuck to her skin. David leaned his forehead against hers, slowing the bucking of his hips until the white heat in her singed every nerve and she raked her nails against the sensitive skin of her back. The whole thing made him feel more alive than he had in a long time. That was the problem with Julia. 

As he held her at the edge, one of her hands came down to touch his, a desperate attempt at begging him to give her what she needed but he took it in his own, lacing their fingers, and held it above her head, unwilling to give into her just yet. It was an agonising thirty-seconds, his body pressing her hard into the bed before he increased the pace. They shuddered, rocked, and hurtled their way towards the white-hot climax that erupted first in her where she came with a strangled cry, before he followed, unable to hold off any longer as he relished the feel of her around him. He fell into a gaping chasm of warmth and serenity and he clutched at her in a way he would almost be embarrassed about normally. 

He rolled off her with a contented sigh and rested his forearm against his head as he waited for his lungs to resume their function, and instantly she missed his warmth. They laid in relative silence, save for their ragged breaths and she fought every inch of her instinct to run away, to hide from him and this deepening mess they were falling further into. He turned to face her back, reaching out to touch her shoulder. 

“Don’t run away, Julia,” he whispered, and it was halfway between a command and a plea. She stayed still for so long, he thought she’d fallen asleep and he let his hand drop away, laying flat onto his back to look up at the ceiling fan with a heavy weight in the pit of his stomach. 

“I’m not,” she finally said, and he jolted in surprise. 

Any conflict he’d ever felt vanished, at least momentarily. How could this be the same woman supposedly trying to manipulate the government and the public for her own gain?! He shifted closer, well aware of the blurred lines they were crossing, and pulled her firmly towards him. His warmth radiated through her and she closed her eyes, reaching up to grasp his hand in hers, pulling it around her silently. He knew he should leave, go back to his own room and erect that barrier between them, put an end to this bizarre affair but it was moments like this that made the thought unfathomable; her willingness to show vulnerability with him, only him, that kept him tangled up with her. 

After a moment of what constituted a truce, her eyes opened, and she turned to face him, their eyes connecting in the orange glow of the room. Her blouse hung open, revealing her bare stomach and black bra that he longed to release her from. It took him a moment to realise she was guiding his hand down to her pelvis. A small, hungry smile crept upon his face and he leaned in, taking her lip between his, sucking on it until she moaned as his hand met its destination and delved underneath her lingerie. He could already feel the sexual tension building back up in him and feeling beneath her knickers, it was clear she felt the same. He pulled back, pausing to slide the silk garment over her legs, his fingertips grazing her slickened thighs on his way back up. She pushed his shirt off his back and gripped his bare biceps when he once again, entered and swallowed her guttural groan. 

Whilst the first time that evening had been a bizarre form of reconciliation, this round was part of a fumbling desperation, need, and she pulled at him, trying to draw him as close into her as possible. He was happy to oblige as he speared her repeatedly without removing his mouth from hers. She dug her nails into the scarred skin on his back, eliciting a hiss against her mouth. It hurt, to have her leaving scratches down his mottled back, but it was a pain that felt so damn good. His tongue ran along her lower lip chastely before dipping in to fight for dominance against hers. He hadn’t gone multiple times in one night since the early years of his marriage and yet here he was, utterly intoxicated by this powerful pillar of a woman who was writhing beneath him like he was her lifeforce. She was burning every part of him and he didn’t even mind. 

Neither took long to reach the peak that dissipated with a series of cries, and nips and pants and when it was done, he laid back, his eyelids finally growing heavy. Just as they were about to close, he felt the bed shift and her head touched his shoulder, only lightly. It was a gesture that surprised him, even more so when he felt her arm snake around his middle. When was the last time a woman he’d slept with had clung to him in the post-coital bliss? Probably Vicky, he surmised, before Iraq. And now she looked at him in repulsion. Was that what had driven him into this bed? He swallowed. 

“I’m not the queen, you’re allowed to touch me,” she’d sobbed. This strong, powerful woman had stood before him, armour in tatters, and declared herself as someone who was vulnerable, afraid, and someone who needed comfort, love. 

But she was the enemy 

-x-x- 

"So … none of you are any closer to finding out exactly who killed my driver and tried to kill Sargeant Budd and myself?” Julia repeated incredulously, her narrowed eyes working around the room which had fallen into an uneasy silence under her icy glare. “And I would really love if you could explain what took the ARVs so long to respond!” She looked to Anne who opened her mouth to respond but Julia cut her off. “If it hadn’t been for the quick thinking of Sargeant Budd, there’s a good chance we wouldn’t be having this meeting right now.” 

Everyone in the room turned their heads to face the head of Counter Terrorism who stammered for a response. 

“We’re still conducting an investigation into that, ma’am,” she finally said. 

The meeting was at a dead-end like so many before it and Julia rose to her feed slowly, signifying its demise. 

“We’ll get back to you with any developments,” Anne added as she hurried past her. Julia nodded solemnly, watching her colleagues leave the room one by one. 

It had never occurred to her that anyone besides Anne Sampson would potentially find a way to remove her from power. It had never crossed her mind to look close to home, though perhaps it should. She looked past the glass at David, standing dutifully as ever. He looked only briefly at her and she felt … what? Something she couldn’t quite dig out. Her attention was still with him when Stephen stepped forward, pushing Mike, the baldheaded thorn in her side, out of her eyeline. 

“A private word, Julia, if I may,” he said, and she ran a hand through her hair. When would this tiresome date come to a natural end? She wanted to say no tell him that all she wanted was to curl up with a bottle of wine in her room and forget who she was for a while. 

“Of course,” she heard herself say instead, moving back into the room. David watched them, his jaw clenched almost painfully. Mike hesitated, the only one to do so, his blue eyes steely. 

“Thick as thieves those two,” he said, and David wondered if he was talk to him or musing aloud. 

Regardless, he remained quiet, his job was not to comment on the home secretary’s business or her meetings. But it wasn’t his job to fuck her either, he thought, but here we are. And now, on the surface, he tried to keep his mind from wandering over what he wanted to do to her when they were alone. He pulled at his collar and cleared his throat. Mike looked at him as if only just remembering he existed. 

“This happen a lot?” Mike asked, and David frowned, a little affronted by the man’s forwardness. 

“I’m sorry, Sir?” 

The minister approached him, looking over his shoulder conspiratorially. 

“I’m asking, Sargeant Budd, whether you have witnessed many meetings between that man and the Home Secretary?” he said waspishly, his pig like eyes scrunched and squinted. 

David blinked his disbelief away. Was this man really expecting him to blurt out top secret information, right here in the corridor? 

“I couldn’t possibly say, sir,” David said after a long pause. Mike examined for longer than necessary before letting out an irritated guffaw and retreating. He watched him go until he had to crane his neck then he cast his glance back at his principal, only once, before roaming his eyes over the corridor. 

The door opened, and both Stephen and Julia piled out of it. The former looked smug whilst the latter looked harassed. It wasn't the first time David had wondered whether the MI5 mogul had something tangible on Julia. 

He waited until she’d pulled her coat on and gathered the red cause she would hardly ever be seen without, before he took his place a step behind her, wordlessly following her as they meandered through to the underground garage. She had finally begun to listen to him on that front. She didn’t acknowledge him, even as he held the door open for her, but he didn’t imagine the way her hand grazed his on the door handle. She was so close to him he could smell her shampoo, could feel the warm of her back against him. He didn’t move, allowed her to get into the car before he slammed the door shut. The metallic sound rang like a gunshot in the underground space and he winced. 

“We should take the north route to Romsley House, I think you’ll agree, ma’am,” he finally said once he’d slipped into the front seat. He eyed her in the rearview mirror, catching her eye only briefly before they flickered quickly back to her paperwork. 

“Yes, I trust your judgement,” she said and the driver, Derek uneasily pulled his vehicle north to skirt around the side of the Thames only to cross back over several miles up. 

David ground his teeth, he was quickly tiring of this pushing and pulling she was constantly subjecting him to. Her coldness at work was to be expected he surmised, but then they’d share a look, a touch that went beyond the realm of professionalism and he found himself constantly fighting the urge to bend her over her desk or fuck her right there in the back of the car, Derek be damned. The desire in him directly fought against his urge to despise her, and everything she stood for, to shake her, shout at her, hurt her... 

He didn’t have time to think about it as they pulled into the road that lead to their destination and even from this distance, David could hear the shouts of hate filled protestors crowding the walls of the stately house. He swallowed hard and eyed her in the mirror; she was no longer looking at her lap, her eyes, wide were fixed on the window. Since her assassination attempt, she’d been a lot nervier around loud noises and it was an element of her that made him forget his frustrations. 

“It’s going to be just fine, ma’am” he said and without waiting for her response, he turned to the driver, murmuring low instructions to him. 

Julia, however, didn’t tear her eyes away from the jostling crowds all pushing against the police cordon to get to her. There were at least a hundred people on her side, united by their hatred for her and baying for her blood. The thought never bothered her before, until now. Something hit the side of the car and she yelped, instinctively curling herself up. David turned to see the egg smear rolling down the rear window and clenched his jaw. 

“It’s okay, it’s just an egg,” he said, his voice authoritative, not condescending, trying to get her to focus on the here and now. She looked at him, his face only turned half to her. Another egg smashed against the window, but she resisted the urge to scream, her eyes firmly planted on his jawline, taking a deep breath in, letting it out as slowly and as measured as she could. Though, try as she might, she couldn’t stop her hands from trembling and she desperately wanted to reach out for him. 

Derek froze when a protestor broke the line and ran at the car, wielding his placard like an axe and in the five seconds it took for the police to drag him off, Derek had driven the car to a full stop and stared. David looked from the growing mob to the driver with swelling anger. Even above the fray he could hear Julia’s quick breaths and not for the first time he was dragged back to the scene at Thornton Circus, when he thought they’d both perish. 

“Drive for fuck’s sake!” he snapped at the man beside him. It had no effect until he screamed in the man’s face. That snapped him out of the reverie and the car was finally thrown into gear, pulling up through the gates of the building, though it didn’t stop the roaring anger from floating over. 

"Lavender has arrived,” David murmured into his microphone before he straightened his back and got out, pausing to open her car door. 

The thundering hatred rose to such levels it was almost deafening and he peered into the car when she didn’t immediately get out. 

“Ma’am,” he said over the din, but still she didn’t move. “Ma’am!” 

She looked at him as if through a veil and he glanced over at the building to see her aide, that snivelly rat Rob holding up his arms in annoyance. David paid him no heed. 

“Julia!” he said, a little sharper than he had intended but it had the desired effect and she gasped as if surprised to see him standing there. Seeing her rabbit-like expression, he added softly, “Ma’am.” 

The reverie was broken, and she stepped out of the car, barriers up against the barrage of surging voices, collectively calling for her head. He went to put a hand on her shoulder, but she surprised him by taking his hand tightly in hers, the way a wife might reach for a husband’s and though she wasn’t looking at him, her gaze firmly beyond the gates, he squeezed her hand and pulled her towards him. The gesture didn’t go unnoticed by Rob who narrowed his eyes. 

“You’re okay,” David whispered near her ear when he released her hand to loop his arm around her. It was not a strictly professional gesture, but it had the desired effect of making her pliable enough that she’d follow him. 

He only released her when they reached the ornate London building. 

“What the bloody hell took so long?” Rob hissed at David when they drew near. He remained mute as Rob took his place beside the home secretary, leading her into the building, bodyguard falling behind them. Julia, having recovered herself, had revered back to her ice-queen persona, David noted, the entire time she spoke, impassioned and calm. 

-x-x- 

He woke with a start, drowning in darkness. He’d fallen asleep with the scent of her in his nostrils as her hair had brushed against his chin. He turned over and stretched his arm out across the bed, but it was empty and cold. He sat up, his heart thudding in his chest and suddenly aware of every inch of the room. It seemed his instincts hadn’t dulled despite the copious red wine he’d put away that evening. 

“Julia?” he muttered. 

In the dark, his voice sounded hollow and distant and he rubbed his face before rolling off the bed. The floor was cold, and an icy draught was whipping around the room. He winced and rubbed his arms. He followed the cool air, pulling aside the thick curtain to reveal the opened balcony door. He hadn’t actually realised her room had a balcony and he stepped out onto it, immediately feeling assaulted by the frigid autumnal air. 

Julia was stood at the railing, leaning over it and for just an absurd second, he envisioned her falling. 

“What are you doing out here? It's freezing,” he said, and she turned her head to him, avoiding his glance. She didn’t speak, and he took another step towards her. She wore a thin white shirt and he could see her shivering, though she managed to stop her teeth chattering for the most part. He wanted to be back inside, the door closed and, in the warmth, with or without her but something in her demeanour left him colder than the breeze. “Julia, it’s too cold out here.” 

“You know... I think I’m the most hated woman in Britain right now,” she said wryly, and he swallowed. 

He didn’t contradict her, it wouldn’t have been welcomed and he doubted he could reach her anyway. She returned her gaze to the glittering lights of London below them and he suddenly thought about the risks of being outside. 

“You should come inside,” he said but she made no move towards his outstretched arm. Being this high up made his head spin and he focused on the side of her face. Up close, he noticed it was his shirt she was wearing. “Julia...” 

She turned to him, her expression dark, unreadable. He thought she almost looked sad. 

“I never really thought about it before,” she said, and he frowned. Thought about coming in? He thought. About to open his mouth, something in her eyes made him close it again. “how much people hate me... I mean. I – I've always tried to do the right thing, and often that’s the hard thing.” 

She’d told him that once before and he hadn’t believed her then, part of him didn’t doubt her sincerity now. 

“They don’t understand! I am trying to keep these people safe and they just want to-” 

She threw her arms up, white anger strangling her throat. He chewed his cheek. He understood it; all the hatred. He had been in their position many times, wishing they would do the right thing, resign, or just shuffle off the mortal coil. But then he’d slept with her. 

“If they don’t want my help then there’s not much point is there?” she snapped, and he suspected she wasn’t directly talking to him though he moved closer. 

“It’s about doing the hard thing, right?” he said, mostly for something to say and she looked away, her hand buried in her hair. 

“The hard choices … yes...” she muttered. “The hard choices that make me hated by everyone who knows me, and ironically, everyone who doesn’t.” 

“Not everyone,” he hung the words pregnant in the air, waiting for her to receive its meaning, though he doubted she’d fully appreciate what he was saying, not when she was like this. 

He moved in to enclose his arms around her. They were not ones for cuddling or hugging save for the initial hug that had brought them to this moment but when she tentatively snaked an arm around his back, he held her tighter. 

“Not everyone,” he whispered, kissing her hair lightly. He could feel her aggressive shivering and ran his hands over her upper arms. “You’re freezing.” 

“Mmm,” she hummed against his bare shoulder, turning her head to bury her face in his neck. Her breath was the only warm thing out on the balcony. 

“Come back to bed,” he murmured, tightening his grip around her waist. She kissed his neck so lightly he scarcely registered it but the change in mood was a message well received. “I need to warm you up.” 

It wasn’t a tender offer of care, and she knew what he meant but for a while she could pretend he was with her for something less perverse than the comfort sex they kept finding themselves falling into. 

“Please,” she said against his throat, almost marveling at the way her body responded instantly to the suggestion.


	6. Platforms & Bubble Baths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David, Julia, stuck on a snowy platform in Scotland.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look.. I wrote something that's NOT pornographic!! I wasn't sure I had it in me ha!  
> I don't love how this turned out to be honest but I did what I could.

She shivered, rubbing her hands together and hopping from one foot to another, her burgundy trench coat failing to insulate her body from the frigid Scottish winter afternoon air. David hadn’t been kidding when he said she should have packed thermals! When she blew on her hands, her breath plumed around her and she couldn’t remember ever being this cold in her life, not even when Roger took her skiing in the Alps for the world’s worst Christmas. She was the only one on the platform when she looked up and down it and it had only just gone four, but the sun was already setting, taking away the only source of warmth in this frozen landscape. She only prayed it didn’t snow again. David had promised her the light dusting of snow wouldn’t be an issue for the ‘hardy Scottish trains’ and yet here she was, stranded in the middle of the bastard middle of nowhere and facing a lengthy delay. She was supposed to be back to work the following day, given her already extended Christmas leave that she had never taken prior but there was no way she was making that deadline and she could already see Rob’s horror-stricken face at the thought of the ‘Home Secretary stranded with married lover on Christmas getaway’ headline banded across all the national newspapers. Oh! The horror, she smirked. 

Julia looked up the platform again, wondering where exactly said lover had gotten to and just as she looked down it again, he was jogging back towards her, rubbing his own hands. When he reached her, he looked sympathetic.

“He says all trains are delayed in the area,” David said, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Sorry, love.”

He was lucky he was so damn attractive, and good in bed, lest she might have pushed him on the tracks herself. She sighed, swallowing her irritation; it wasn’t his fault. It didn’t stop the cold wind sending a shiver through her bones however and when he noticed, he started shrugging off his jacket. Touched though she was, she stilled him.

“You’re freezing, Julia,” he said, sincerely, his Scottish lilt washing over her like a warm blanket. One that was too fleeting as she hopped from foot to foot. As they spoke, the mist from their breaths mixed together.

“You’re more use to me alive. If you freeze to death, I'll be utterly stranded!” she said with a wry smile. 

He noted her point with a small nod, leaning into her, first rubbing his hands over her forearms vigorously, before winding his arms underneath her coat and around her waist, holding her against him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her face into his shoulder, just as he leaned in and kissed her neck. He held her as tight as he could without hurting her, to share his limited body heat and his hands rubbed over her back.

“Are you warm yet?” he teased.

“I love you,” she said, the words tumbling out of her mouth before she realised what she’d said, and she tensed. 

His breath hitched. For all the answers to his question, that was the one he least expected, and he pulled his face away to look at her, noting the warm sincerity in her amber eyes. A small smile spread across his face.

“What?” he said, and she shrugged, trying to downplay the intensity of what she’d said.

“I said I’m bloody freezing!” she said, and he studied her for a minute, but the moment had passed, and he returned his face to her neck with an unconvinced ‘hmm’. 

-x-

She crossed her legs and uncrossed them, boredom had already set in and checking her phone for any messages from her team was futile; even if she had any signal, they’d all still be at home, in warm mansions with their loved ones. 

“Here,” his voice cut across her melancholy and she looked up to see him holding out a take-away cup to her. 

She smiled when she took it, trying to dampen her bad mood; she may not be in her warm flat, but she was with her loved one and that alone awakened something in her stomach. He sat beside her, his hands wrapped around the cup, desperate to absorb any heat. She sighed, fixing her gaze on the electronic display that still provided no answers.

“I am sorry,” David said, and she looked at him. “I really didn’t think this would bring the country to a halt!” 

“Godlike thought you are, darling, you can’t control the weather,” she teased and leaned into him, his arm winding around her shoulders. Her free hand went to rest on his thigh and she leaned her head on his shoulder.

“Godlike?” He chuckled, his breath tickling her hair, but she didn’t say anything. 

“It doesn’t matter,” she said, her breath fogging in front of their faces as she sipped on the red-hot coffee. “I’d rather be here than in my flat all alone, anyway.”

It was the closest he’d get to a second love declaration and he kissed the side of her head with a smile. It had been their first break away as a couple, since all the shit, all the death and terror. And it had been nice to just be anonymous, in his hometown, with his family where she was no more Home Secretary than he was the failed bodyguard, where they could just be. Perhaps that was the cause of her serenity, her lack of panic over probably missing work the following day. It had to have been the cause for her to relax so much she’d utter the three words he wasn’t sure she’d had echoed back at her in at least five years. But he’d missed his moment, too stunned by her dropping them that he hadn’t responded quickly enough and now they were back at the emotional impasse. 

Dusk came and went, darkness setting in and bringing with it, a five-degree drop. She was shivering so hard against him that he could hear the shuddering in her breath. Even the coffee shop was shut now, they were alone to fend for themselves. This was not how he’d planned their evening to end. They should already be half way home. 

“You should take my jacket,” he said, and she opened her eyes abruptly.

“Hm?” she said. He didn’t think she’d be used to the temperature, like he was, having grown up on this land.

“I said you should take my jacket.”

She shook her head, rubbing her hands together before placing them between her legs. 

“No, I’m fine,” she said, sharper than intended before softening. “When you said it was cold up here, I didn’t think you meant it was like the North Pole.” 

He laughed. “I mean, it’s cold, Julia, but it’s not that cold.”

“Says the Scot who used to live here! Anything below minus 3 is Arctic to me,” she chided playfully. 

“I best not actually take you to the North Pole then, hmm?” 

She lifted her head, straightening her back on the hard metal bench, to look at him. She could see the mirth in his eyes.

“That would be wise, Sargeant,” she said, leaning back to stretch her arms above her head. He pulled his arm from around the back of her and blew into his hands. She stopped mid-stretch, gaze fixed across at the other, deserted platform. “Although... I could think of ways we’d be able to keep ourselves warm, if you did...”

He licked his lower lip and look at her, desire building in his stomach and groin. 

“Yeah?” he raised an eyebrow and she returned his lustful glance.

Just as she opened her mouth, another cut across the hollow air.

“I’m really sorry mate,” the man was saying. David, having recognised him, felt something sink in his stomach. As he reached them, he was red faced and puffing, streams of mist swirling around him. “I’ve just heard, all the trains on this line are cancelled.”

Julia closed her eyes, her earlier irritation returning with a vengeance and David leaned forward, disregarding her change in mood.

“You’re kidding?!” he said, though he knew the answer immediately. The man remained apologetic and silent and David rubbed his hands over his face with a long sigh. “Is there any way to get back to Largs?”

“Not tonight, I’m afraid.” the conductor said, and Julia sank back in the seat with a groan. 

“So what now? We’re not staying out here all night,” David said gruffly. He had done it before; spent many a drunken night on snowy platforms over New Years with his mates, in his youth. But he refused to subject her to it. 

The conductor pointed in a general direction behind the station.

“There’s a hotel about 500 yards down there,” he said, and David followed his arm. 

-x-

“Well unless you want to send a car all the way up to Scotland to come and get me, you’re just going to have to bloody well deal with it!” she snapped into her phone. She was trying to be discreet as David conversed with the receptionist, his attention only half on her but he knew enough from her demeanor, her voice, that she was having to listen to a vitriol of insults about her decorum. “No, because I don’t control the fucking weather do I?!”

David took the key from the girl behind the desk with a blank smile and wheeled their cases over to her. She was gritting her teeth as she listened to whatever bullshit her ex-husband was spewing and he rested a hand on her back, holding the key up in front of her. 

“There is nothing I can do about it so start figuring out your contingency plan. I’ll be back the day after tomorrow, providing the trains are running, otherwise you can fashion me some wings out of wax if you’d like.” 

She’d never missed a day off work unauthorised, not even after she’d been shot at, or watched Mike Travis blown to pieces in front of her, when she should have been. Not a single day, even when she should have been assessed for shock and sent home to rest. And yet here was Roger, chastising her like she was a child. She felt rage beginning to prickle at her edges, despite the calming effect of David’s hand on her. He waggled the key and raised his eyebrows.

“I’m going now, I have better things to do,” she said, looking pointedly at David, hovering at her side. 

As soon as he’d pushed through the door, his old instincts kicking in, he shrugged his jacket off, allowing the warmth of the room to wash over him. 

“Is he mad?” he was saying as she walked out the bathroom. She still looked a little blue but colour was creeping across her cheeks rapidly. 

She fiddled with her blouse sleeve. 

“He’s always mad when it comes to me,” she said. She hadn’t meant it to come out so bitter, but he could tell whatever he’d said, had wheedled beneath her skin.

“Well … fuck him,” he said with a grin which fell a little when he heard his words aloud. “I mean... not literally …”

She laughed once before sighing, chucking her coat on the nearest chair to her. He watched as she shed whatever was bothering her and rolled her shoulders. He took a step towards her, his hands going to her waist. 

“Time to warm you up, I think,” he murmured as he got closer to her neck. She hummed when he kissed her, sucking gently on her skin before he pulled away, lifting the edges of her blouse to pull it above her head.

“Your idea of warming me up... is to remove all my clothes?” she said wryly as he kissed her collarbone. 

“Hmmm... I was thinking,” he paused, mere millimetres from her skin and punctuated every word with a small hot kiss, “of a nice, hot … bath.”

Her eyes closed as he kneaded at her bare flesh and sucked on the skin around the hollow of her neck.

“Mmmm... yes please,” she said in a low whisper. He chuckled against her ear and pushed her backwards towards the bathroom, her arms winding around his neck as he very much made good on his promise to burn her soul and smother her in his warmth. 

-x-

The water had been scolding on his scarred back, but it was a stark contrast from the frost that had seemingly set into his bones just from sitting outside, waiting for bloody trains. As it had cooled, it felt good to feel it everywhere, every inch of his bare skin caressed by the smooth violet scented bubbles and warm water. She held his hand in hers, reading the lines across his palm before pulling it around her, leaning her head back against his chest, eyes closed. Her damp hair tickled against his chest and he ran a hand down her bare arm, his fingertips dancing over her skin. 

“I love you too,” he said, splitting the charged air and she turned her head abruptly to look at him, sideways.

“What?” she said.

“I said, have you warmed up yet?” he teased, and she tutted loudly before he leaned in, swallowing any further noise of disapproval, with his mouth.


	7. Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David hands over his flashdrive of recordings to Julia... much to her horror

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't love this... but I wanted to explore what happened when David told Julia he had had to spy on her.

“Julia... I really need to talk to you,” he said, shifting from one foot to another in the doorway. She frowned. The aftermath of an explosion was hardly the time for any kind of personal conversation with him, no matter how much she felt the urge to jump his bones.

Something about death, or near death apparently made people horny, she’d heard and now she was experiencing it first-hand. But she was tiring quickly of the constant comings and goings of various police officers, security service agents, ministers, all determined to ensure the great and almighty Julia Montague was still standing. Not a single one of them had any clue as to had tried to blow her stage up, and almost her. 

Her ears were still muffled, a temporary symptom of the blast, she’s told. It’ll fade with time but the way she flinched when the door is opened and closed a little too loudly, she doubted ever will. Still, she looked at him, her gaze vacant she was sure. She stepped aside and let him into the room, it was bland, far unlike the Blackwood, and there was no adjoining room for him to slink off into, no matter how much she wanted him to stay.

“I erm... I have to go into SO15 tomorrow to make a statement,” David said, moving into the room. 

“Okay,” she said, an unease was beginning to grow in her. 

He reached into his pocket and pulled out something silver, holding it out to her when he was across the threshold. Turning it over and over, she recognised it as a USB flash drive and her confusion, her unease grew.

“What is it?”

He sank onto her bed, glance firmly fixed ahead, though he could see her moving around to face him, in his peripheral.

“There’s half a dozen recordings...” he started, trailing off as his eyes caught hers. She looked almost afraid “Of you... and the security service, Longcross, anyone who came to your room.”

She looked at him, eyes wide, mouth falling open. 

“What?” she tried to say but the breath had been stolen from her lungs. She felt sick.

“I was told to make these recordings for SO15 and Lorraine Craddock... and-” 

“I’m sorry, you did what?!” she said, disbelief and something else, something far colder, spreading across her like a wildfire.

“Julia - I swear, I never shared them with anyone and I-” he held his hands over his mouth.

“You’ve been spying on me?” Her voice was calm, passive almost, but he could see horror in her eyes. He pinched his lower lip.

“I- I had to- I -” he stammered, standing to reach out for her, but she pulled dramatically away from him.

“Was this before or after you started fucking me?” she said, her eyes, hard as glass, met his and he hated himself. She was hurt, angry, devastated even and he felt her slipping away from him before his eyes.

“Julia, what happened between us, had nothing to do with it. I swear.” He was reaching out for her again but again, she side stepped him.

“Don’t touch me!” she said and when she spun to look at him, he was surprised to see tears in her eyes. 

“Julia,” he said, his eyes blurring as he saw their world crumbling around them. “That’s the only copy, on that drive.”

She stopped, her chest heaving and her head floating. 

“Is that why you slept with me?” she asked, pulling her calm exterior back on. 

He looked at her sadly, his chest ached, and he shook his head, but she turned abruptly away. 

“I need you to leave,” she only said, her voice dark, and it sounded all too final. 

“Please don’t-just listen-”

Desperation burned through him; out of all the ways that their burgeoning relationship would come to a crushing end, he had least anticipated it ending like this. 

“David, I really need you to leave.” She sounded broken, like she had done when she’d first kissed him.

He moved to the door, hand hovering on the handle as she turned away from him, her breath quickening as her stomach squeezed and betrayal rose in her throat. He was always doing what everyone told him to do, but it was never what he wanted to do. With that revelation, he dropped the handle and turned to her. She’d sunk onto the bed, her hand stretched out to support her weight, the other clutching her chest.

“I won’t leave, because you need to know.” Her eyes rose reluctantly to meet his. “What happened between us, was real, IS real and it has nothing to do with what I was asked to do, or whatever shady shit you’ve gotten yourself so tangled up in that someone is actively trying to blow you up. None of that matters, what matters is this,” he gestured between them and she chewed her lip. “THIS.”


	8. Reunions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mutual masturbation whilst apart, and then David arrives home to give Julia a good fucking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not even sure what this actually is...  
> Also huge thank you for the reviews - which I'm always remiss at replying to!

She had said ten-thirty on the dot and sure enough, ten-thirty came, and his phone vibrated on the bedside cabinet. He let it ring for a few seconds, didn’t want to seem too eager now he did? He switched the TV and tossed aside the remote, reaching over for the phone, biting his lip in the anticipation of hearing her voice. This secondment to the Edinburgh terrorism unit was killing him, not least because he hadn’t touched his wife in three whole weeks. With the end in sight, he knew the following week would crawl by. He slid the phone to answer.

“Hey,” he said coyly, trying to put the strain out of his voice.

“Hello,” she said, equally as coy. 

He smiled at the sound of her. Oh, how he’d missed her dulcet tone since their last phone call five days prior. 

“You alright?” Suddenly he felt like a shy school boy.

“Mhm, I’ve just dropped the children off at Vicky’s, Charlie is doing so well in reading, he wanted me to tell you that,” she said, and he smiled at the mention of his kids. “What about you? What exciting things have you been up to?” 

He sighed as he swung himself into a seated position, dangling his legs over the edge of the bed. He thought over the past week. They always tried to be unemotive about how much they missed one another, trying to spare each other the pain of separation, but it always bled through. He didn't remember ever being this homesick when he was with Vicky, besides perhaps in Afghanistan. It was a weird feeling, especially since they’d only been separated for three weeks. It wasn’t just the sex he missed; he missed her laugh, her smile, her perfume, missed holding her at night. All of it was killing him.

“The usual, there’s no further threats so they’ve said I can come home next week,” he said, slumping back onto the bed. His shirt hung open and he rested his free arm over his eyes. 

“I miss you,” she said somberly, completing at odds with the mood she had seemingly intended ti set when she set up this ‘appointment’. He closed his eyes as he tasted her words, the sadness and pain in them. Everything about their relationship had been intense and for the moment, and now this sadness was amplified.

“I know, I miss you too,” he said quietly. They’d broken their cardinal rule. “We can just talk if you don’t feel like-”

“No, I’m so wet I'll have to take care of myself one way or the other, but I’d rather have your voice in my ear as I do. I’ve been thinking about having you inside me all day,” she said, voice hoarse as she moved back into the playful flirtatious tone he loved so much. He could imagine her eyes sparkling. “And you don’t even want to know what I want you to do to me when you get home?”

“Oh?” he grinned. “And what is that?” 

“I want to feel your weight on top of me, your hands all over my skin, your breath in my ear, crying my name,” she growled, and a small moan worked its way out of his throat.

“Is that so?” he said, biting his lip as his hands toyed with the button on his trousers. “What are you wearing?” 

She let out a small laugh and he grinned.

“That black slip you like so much, and those lace knickers I bought in Paris,” she said it almost so matter-of-factly that he felt the tension burning in his groin.

“God, I’m getting had just thinking about you,” he said huskily, leaning back, looking straight up at the ceiling, his eyes hooded as he pictured her laying on their bed, her hand roaming over her body the way he wished he could touch her, taste her.

“Remember what we said – no touching yourself until you get home,” she said sternly, and his eyes flung open. He could already feel an ache in his balls that needed remedying.

“Jesus, Julia, if I don’t take care of myself, I'll come the minute I see you, and I'll be no use to anyone,” he said. He was sure she enjoyed the effect she had on him, just as he enjoyed the fact that the very thought of him and what he wanted to do to her, made her gush like Niagara Falls. 

“Hmm,” she said, thoughtfully. “That is true. I guess it would be nice to hear you groaning out my name.”   


She spoke with such illicit lust, he held the phone between his ear and shoulder and pulled his trousers down. A surge of relief flooded through him when he reached into his boxers and freed his erection with the anticipation of working on it whilst simultaneously imaging her hands clasped around his cock.

“Take your knickers off,” he said gruffly, “and tell me how wet you are.” 

She let out a breathy sight as she slid a finger inside herself.

“God, I want you so bad. I’m soaked,” she purred, and he tightened his hand around himself, without moving. “I wish you were inside me right now.”

The bite of hunger for him, sent a shiver down his spine.

“Me too, believe me,” he said almost mournfully. 

“What would you do to me?” she asked. He had expected to find the whole sex chat thing a little awkward, was almost horrified when she suggested it, but he hadn’t anticipated how naturally it would come to both of them.

“I’d bend you over the sofa, rip your knickers off and fuck you so hard you wouldn’t be able to stand for a week,” he said, surprised a little by the aggressive tone of it. If she seemed put off, she didn’t say anything, instead she moaned. “I want to thrust so fucking deep inside you.”

“David-” her voice quivered, and he stroke his full length slowly, running his thumb over the tip, imagining her tongue flicking over the sensitive skin. He shuddered, involuntarily. She panted in his ear as he imagined her hand swirling around in circles, sending electric currents of pleasure shooting through her.

“God, I want to lick your cunt so badly,” he growled; apparently, he was getting fully into it now. “I want to bury myself inside you up to the hilt and pound you so hard you’re screaming my name.” When he had become so carnal?! She let out a small cry and he bit his lip. 

David gritted his teeth as he worked his hand up and down in time to her moans, her breaths coming in heavy, loud pants and he knew she was close to climaxing. 

“Are you going to come?” he asked, voice thick from his own self-induced pleasure and his desire for hers.

“Hmmmm,” she only let out a long-drawn-out hum of pleasure, a sure sign she was certainly close. 

He pounded away at himself, desperate to imagine her face in front of his, clenching around him, warm and wet. He imagined her writhing on their bed as if besieged by electric currents and came to within an inch of his own orgasm. Her pants increased in both volume and intensity, punctuated with loud moans that became less reserved, the closer she got. 

It was too much for him and he let his climax hit, that drew a strangled groan from his lips and had him spilling over into his hand. He caught the tail end of her own climax as she was crying out his name with suck reckless abandon, he was sure he’d explode again, if he could. 

“Jesus, Julia,” he said once his lungs started drawing oxygen again. He had lost count of the amount of times he’d masturbated in his life, but something about having her pant as she came undone, in his ear, whilst he did, heightened the experience significantly. 

“Well that was better than I expected,” she said breathily, and he laughed, rolling onto his side, the phone held between his ear and the pillow. 

“That was... that was amazing,” he said. “Definitely the best wank I've ever had.”

This made her chuckle before she turned quiet, her breathing slowing to a regular pace and it felt like she was there.

“I love you,” he said softly, and he could almost hear her smiling.

“I love you too. Talk to me, tell me how you’ve been?” The sexy vixen dropped away to tender wife and his chest burned with affection.

“Well... I found a new place for lunch...” he said, to her mirthful laughter.

-x-x-

David pulled his collar up to combat against the chilled London air, his phone pressed against his ear. It rang five times before she finally picked up. 

“Hey... yeah, I just got back into London... waiting for a cab.” As he listened to her talking, he dropped the handle of his case to extend his arm to the first black cab with its light on. “Listen, I hope you’re home because, my God, I really need to have you right now.”

The cab pulled up to the curb to the sound of her laughing seductively in his ear, and David pulled open the door, climbing in with his case.

“Yep, just hold that thought,” he said to her before turning to the driver, “Mayfair mate.” And then his attention was back on her. “Mhm... no this has been the longest week of my life. Anyway, I'm about twenty minutes away so ahem, just don’t start without me.”

He grinned and clicked off the phone, slipping it back into his pocket resisting the urge to tell the driver to break every speeding law known to the city, lest they get caught and he, delayed even further.

It didn’t stop him from almost throwing far too much money at the man, without waiting for change and sprinting up the steps, passing the ever-present guarding policeman without acknowledgement. His mission had one objective and his blinkers were on. He would have her tonight, and it had been too long. The thought tightened his stomach as he pushed his key in the door and almost chucked his suitcase on the floor. 

Julia was standing in the doorway, having apparently seen him pulling up, and she was biting her lip in a half smile. He kicked the door as she moved towards him. 

“Sergeant Budd,” she said as she pressed her mouth to his. It was like a pressure that had been building inside him steadily for several days, if not weeks, had come to a head and burst when he touched her.

“Mrs Budd,” he giggled against her mouth and pushed her to the wall of the hallway, his hand caressing her cheek as she gripped at his shoulder, snaking her arms around his neck. 

He pushed her back, in the direction of the sofa, the pair shedding the other’s clothes as they went, until they were falling onto it. He broke away to pull his trousers off, chucking them somewhere into the depth of their flat before he worked down her body, kissing her bare stomach, biting on the button of her trousers. Her hands were tangled in his hair as she felt the touch of his hands on every part of her, where she needed him. 

David unbuttoned her trousers, moving back in order to pull them off until she was in her bra and knickers. He saw she had chosen his favourite pair and grinned as he moved back between her legs, mouth reaching for her neck, her jawline, her earlobe. 

“What was it you said? You wanted my weight on top of you and my breath in your ear?” he murmured in her ear, taking her lobe in his ear and biting down playfully. 

With a half moan, half sigh for an answer, she moved her thighs up and around him, desperate for him to claim her, her hands squeezing into his biceps like a secret signal. Normally he’d like to keep her waiting, teasing her but tonight he needed her almost immediately and he pushed his boxers down to release himself, and slid aside the silk lace knickers he loved so much, and glided into her. It felt so good to be inside her that he had to stop moving, lest he reach the climactic peek too soon. 

Julia grasped at him, gasping as he rocked in and out of her with such a burning passion, it tore her apart in the most pleasurable way possible. She clutched her arms around his back, holding him as close to her as she could. 

It took barely minutes for her to be trembling beneath him, whimpering and gasping as he brought her to a climax that stole the very breath from her. And it was only minutes after that, that had him pulsing into her, groaning like a wounded animal. He collapsed on top of her, his breath hot and heavy on her neck as she cradled his head, her legs still wrapped around his waist. 

“I almost want to go away more often if I come home to that,” he said quietly with a light, teasing tone and she turned her head to kiss his temple.

“Don’t ever go away again,” she said tenderly, before the intensity wore from her voice. “I got tired of having to pleasure myself while you were gone.”

He laughed gently in her ear, tightening his grip on her as she drew lazy circles on his forearm.


	9. Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You know... most people are afraid of spiders, snakes, clowns... aren’t they?” Julia said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This started off really well and sort of devolved into something - I dunno.   
> Anyway - thank you for all the comments on previous chapters, I HUGELY appreciate it :)

“You know... most people are afraid of spiders, snakes, clowns... aren’t they?” Julia said, leaning back in the large chair that was supposed to make patients feel comfortable, safe. It didn’t. It made her feel like she was being swallowed up. The older man opposite her paused in writing to look at her.

“And what are you afraid of, Julia?” He asked, pressing his pen to his mouth. She felt herself bristling, fighting the urge to construct her walls. Therapy was about breaking them, not resurrecting them. She twisted the gold band on her left hand, turning it around and around.

“I’m not afraid of anything,” she said defiantly, picking at the armchair where the seam had popped under the weight of all the worries it had consumed since Doctor Harris had opened his practice. 

“Julia, if I may be so frank...” he said, leaning forward and pressing the tips of his fingers together. She looked at him, unsure whether he’d stop even if she asked him to. “If you’re not afraid of anything, why did you bring up the subject of fear?”

She looked away. 

“Don’t you think it would be good to get it off your chest? I sense you’re holding something back.”

Her eyes grew wet as she fought the instinct to run.

“I’m afraid...I’m afraid one day my husband will wake up and realise he made a terrible mistake... that we’re from different worlds and that he can’t exist in my world. Nor I, his,” she said. She raised her eyes, shimmering under the weight of unshed tears, from her lap to look at him but she could barely make him out through the blurriness.

“Do you think you might share some of these concerns with your husband?” Doctor Harris said, arching a bushy eyebrow.

“I thought I was here to talk about Thorn-” she steadied her shaking breath. “Thornton Circus and St Matthews. Not my marital fears!” A shiver ran down her spine as her tongue tasted the names of her two least favourite places in the world. She dusted away a piece of imaginary lint from her trousers.

“Julia... you’ve been coming here a while now and I do think your fears are connected, otherwise I don’t believe you would have brought it up. I think the fear these two locations induce in you, is connected to your concerns of your marriage failing.” The softer his voice got, the angrier and more frustrated she grew.

“That’s ridiculous!” she said, folding her arms tightly across her chest. Another wall constructed. The good doctor sighed. “How does nearly getting killed, TWICE, equate with my insecurities?!” 

“Well... you’ve said previously that your affair with your husband started just after the first event, at-” he paused to check his notes, “Thornton Circus. And perhaps you’re afraid that it is only trauma that holds the two of you together. I think you’re afraid to let go of that trauma in case your self-fulfilling prophecy is proven correct.”

She felt like she’d been shot. A pain shot through her and she swallowed. He seemed to sense that his blow had gone under her armour and he put his pen to paper once more.

“Tell me about Thornton Circus,” he said, and she froze. Her heart pounded nauseatingly in her chest. 

“Isn’t that the end of the session?” she said, mouth suddenly dry and her eyes, wide, grasping at her wrist for her watch. He checked his own.

“We still have twenty-five minutes.”

Fuck. 

He was writing something down and she wanted to scream at him to stop. 

“I...” she opened her mouth, hoping that the racing thoughts and adrenaline would slow enough to formulate a response. 

Out of the two ‘events’ Thornton had been the least traumatic in terms of fallout, but in terms of personal trauma, she considered it worse. It was during those agonising moments that she first realised someone wanted to take her out, had really wanted to hurt her and was willing to kill two innocent men to do it. Oh Terry, she thought. At least and David had survived (though she used the term loosely most days). But Terry... tears clouded her eyes again and she screwed them shut.

“I can’t,” she said, her breathing had become laboured and when she opened her eyes, the room was spinning. 

“It’s okay love, you can,” his voice in her ear was soothing, his Scottish lilt burying itself in her bones. She almost felt him reaching for her hand before she shook the sensation off.

Doctor Harris said nothing, just watched her expectantly, his face set by the element of kindness one usually developed when dealing with damaged people.

“I...” she opened her mouth, desperately hoping the words would free themselves from their trap inside her brain. She was drowning, and she couldn’t think. 

She closed her eyes, unable to stop the negative sensory overload that had been induced by the opening of the floodgates; the smell of copper thick in her nose, her throat. It made her stomach squeeze and her throat burn. When she reopened her eyes, her breath hitched only slightly; the image of Terry’s mangled corpse was fairly common place for her now that it did not draw a scream. Not anymore. 

She gripped the armchair so tight her knuckles went white and she blinked rapidly until Terry was gone and Doctor Harris was back. He watched her with knitted brows, his pen poised above the paper. She rested a finger against her temple.

“I’m so tired,” she said. The pause since either of them had spoken have been so long, she hadn’t been sure she was going to reply until the words tumbled out of her.

“How are you sleeping?” he asked, and she raised her glance to him.

“Fine,” she said, shifting in the seat, crossing and uncrossing her arms. It wasn’t exactly a lie; the nightmares had reduced, though she’d been woken up many times by David shaking her. 

The doctor raised a knowing eyebrow and she sighed. This was about honesty.

“My husband keeps telling me he wakes to my screaming so … I don’t remember,” only a half truth. Sometimes she remembers. Remembers Mike Travis exploding before her eyes like the Blackpool illuminations. The screaming, the panic. The loud pings of gunshots bouncing off metal work. But she didn’t say any of that.

“Hmm,” he knew she was lying. “I’m afraid our times up.”

She sat back, her chest loosening. She’d survived another session and she watched him scribbling in his pad. Sure enough he held out a sheet of paper to her.

“I’ve increased your prescription, to help with the nightmares and the general anxiety,” he said, and she took it from him, trying to stop the rising tears breaking free. 

How long had she been coming here? Six months? Eight? She couldn’t remember and yet she felt like she was constantly taking one step forward and three steps backwards. Surely she should be able to cope with this without the need for tranquilisers? The entire affair was pathetic, she thought bitterly as she exited to meet her new PPO, avoiding his glance and all conversation as the car meandered across London. She was acutely aware the route took a large berth around Thornton Circus despite how many minutes it would shave off her commute. 

She didn’t tell her driver to take her to the nearest pharmacy, she’d ask David to fulfil her shameful prescription like he had done for the last few months. Their entire marriage, still relatively new had been shrouded by her need for medical intervention and constant crying. She hated herself. 

The thought was shaken by the time the car had pulled up to the Home Office, and she trod the well-known path to her glass office at the top. As she entered the lift her phone vibrated against her thigh and she instantly knew who it would be, knew he was checking on her, had been since the first day back when she had called him, crying in the bathroom on the eighth floor. She’d call him back, she surmised.

A blankness descending meant that she could get through the building and to the safety of her office without being self-conscious; everyone knew where she’d been, known it since she’d ‘gone funny’. How she’d managed to keep her position after her very public panic attack that led to her walking out of one of the most important meetings she’d had in her entire career, was beyond her. But no one was allowed to discriminate against mental health anymore so that was her saving grace as well as an order to seek medical help. She still hadn’t gone however; it was at David’s insistence, as he’d sat on the edge of their bed, pleading tearfully for her to get help, that she’d given in and found herself in one of the most expensive doctor’s offices in the whole of London. The irony of it was not lost on her, considering it had taken him years to accept help.    
   
As soon as she was through her door, she was swept up into the dirty world of politics and she put all thought of blood and bullets from her mind. Having Terry’s and Mike’s defiled corpses following her around soon blended away to the numbness she had bestowed on herself.

-x-x-

It never occurred to her that she forgot to call him back until she was trotting up the stairs behind her cockney PPO, the lights on reminding her she didn’t live alone anymore. She wondered briefly, around the pang of guilt, why she was surprised he’d all but moved in almost immediately in the weeks following the bomb, and that they’d married three months later in a bizarre whirlwind time surrounded by sex scandals, ministerial shakeups that left her clinging to her job by the skin of her teeth, and scandals involving police corruption that ended in several high profiled officers being removed from their positions. 

George, the cockney brute who had invaded her life and seemed to cause no end of tension with David, pushed open her door like he owned the place and David’s face appeared from the kitchen. Their eyes met, and she quickly busied herself with taking her coat off; she refused to talk about personal matters with George’s ears flapping so she waited by the door until he was done. She wondered if David ever got sick of all of this, the constant interruptions, the idea that they were never quite alone. It was in that dark space that she often thought they’d rushed things, gotten married in a haze of post trauma. The thought was one that gnawed at her every night. What if it had been a mistake? Two boats in a storm looking for an anchor...

The smile once George had gone, however, banished the very thought from her mind, if only for the moment. She knew he wouldn’t mention her ignoring his call, too desperate not to risk upsetting her, but the guilt burned at her regardless and once she’d hung her coat up, she approached him, pressing a kiss to the side of his mouth before brushing past into the kitchen.

He watched her pour wine into the glass, she could feel him in her peripheral and she desperately wanted to hug him or have him hug her but neither moved, save for her raising the glass to her lips. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t call you back,” she said, and she meant it. Her eyes sought out his and he shrugged.

“It’s okay, I figured you were busy,” he only said, and she hated herself. She didn’t deserve this man and his endless understanding.

“I just … I mean I was but I just … it’s not easy to talk at work,” she said, trying to reduce the clinical aspect to her words, and failing. 

“Right,” he was nodding, and she raked a hand through her hair aggressively. “Are you okay?”

She sighed as she slunk past him and lowered herself onto the sofa. He followed her, eyebrows knitted, concern flooding through him as he sat beside her. She leaned forward, dumping the glass on the table and rested her hand over her eyes. She knew she was half way between shouting, throwing glasses, and crying, and she didn’t know which way she’d swing. 

“I have a new prescription, would you mind picking it up tomorrow?” she said instead, and he nodded. 

“Of course. Love, what’s wrong?” his gentle urging was wheedling its way beneath her armoured chest plates and she held out her hand to him without meeting his eyes. He took it, threading his fingers with hers.

“Nothing ever changes,” she said, staring at the wall just off his shoulder to avoid the pity in his eyes. 

“Julia, I don’t-” he was shaking his head. 

“I’ve been doing this for ...what? seven, eight months? And nothing changes!” she looked at him, saw him frowning and felt herself swimming in his blue eyes. If only she could stay there forever. 

Realisation dawned and he sighed, rubbing his chin.

“All this time I’ve been sitting in that fucking office talking about feelings and I still can’t hear a car backfire without flinching. What’s wrong with me?!” 

“It takes time, therapy and all that. No one has a time frame.”

“I have never been weak, David, I’m not accustomed to it and I hate being weak now,” she said sharply, and he squeezed at her hand.

“It’s not weakness, you’re not weak.” 

“Yes, I am! Because no one else is struggling with this! Kim is doing fine, Tom is fine! Even Mike’s widow is doing alright and yet I can’t hear the words St Mattews without thinking I’m going to die! No one else is waking up in the middle of the night unable to breathe!” she stopped, why hadn’t all of this come out during her session? Why did she only think of these things after she she’d left? Maybe she was the cause of her lack of progress. She swallowed the anger. “You know, I’ve been unable to go anywhere NEAR Thornton Circus in months even though avoiding it means going an exceptionally long route that adds an extra hour a day to my commute. My driver hates it, I’m sure the PPOs hate it. I know I fucking hate it. No one else is doing that, are they?”

She was embarrassed by the way her tirade left her breathless and teary and so turned her head away from him, her free hand toying with her quivering lower lip. Something sharp shot through his chest and he reached around her, pulling her into him. She resisted the action at first but soon folded into his arms, burying her face in his neck.

“If I could take it all away, I would,” he murmured and not for the millionth time, she knew she didn’t deserve him.

-x-x- 

Perhaps she’d known where they were going before they got there but she’d rested her aching head on the head rest and trusted him to deliver her to their destination without mishap. But as they crossed the south circuit, her anxiety began to mount. Then she saw the first road sign and she knew.

“Where are we going?” she said, voice hoarse, only looking at him from the corner of her eye. 

“Just trust me,” he said, and she swallowed.

“David, where are we going?” she repeated, breathless as her chest heaved. She looked accusatorily at him, but his eyes were fixed firmly on the road. 

He didn’t answer as he turned the car into Thornton Drive. She gripped the door handle so tight it hurt, and she looked out the window, trying to remember to breathe in and out, slowly. However, her vision began to swim, the world blurring around her. He looked at her briefly before he pulled the car into the square. 

“Julia-” he said but his voice sounded like he was underwater, and she couldn’t hear him. 

Gunshots peppered the car like small explosions, and she could smell the blood, taste it in her mouth, feel it in her hair. She rubbed at her hands furiously until they stung, desperate to shed them of the red stain. 

“Julia!” he was saying but she couldn’t breathe, and her stomach squeezed until she wretched.

“Stop the car,” she said, barely above a whisper. He looked at her, concern gripping his features.

“I’m righ-” 

“Stop the fucking car, David!” she screamed without looking at him. When she pulled at the door handle, he rolled the car to a stop, swerving to the curb. 

“Jesus- Julia! Stop!” 

Her chest heaved as her vision blackened and she stared ahead of her, Pascoe House looming at the other end of the street. She let out a sob and his hand was reaching out for hers. She pulled away from him.

“Don’t touch me,” she spat, turning her head away from him, her hands, shaking furiously.

“It’s okay,” he said gently.

She wanted to get out, wanting to walk away from him, from this place but panic kept her paralysed, a war of division raging through her as adrenaline flooded her system, inciting the fight or flight instinct. She took a ragged breath in, felt it dragging over her lungs and damaged throat. She wanted to cry, wanted to scream, wanted to hit him, anything other than what she did, which was to sit still.

“Julia, I am right here, nothing is going to happen to you,” he said firmly, and she flicked her eyes up to see the sincerity in his face. His tone dropped. “You have to face this, to get better.”

“I can’t,” she said quietly, picking at the blood under her nails that she knew was not there. 

He leaned over, covering her hand with his, this time she didn’t pull away and he lifted her chin to look at him.

“Yes, you can,” he said quietly, and she watched him pull away, undo his seatbelt and open the car door. The noise of London swept through the isolated cab of the BMW and suddenly she couldn’t hear the gunshots. 

When he walked around the bonnet, her eyes tracked him and it seemed, focusing on him blocked out the rest, until he was opening her door, his hand held out to her. She looked at it, looked up at him, nausea sweeping through her.

“I’m right here,” he said.

She looked from him to the building at the end of the street, the one that had sheltered the man intent on killing her. She breathed in, slowly, before releasing her own seatbelt and placing her shaking hand in his. This was the weakest she had ever felt in her life and she abhorred it. Even when she was crouched behind the seat, bathed in blood and screaming for her life, she didn’t feel particularly weak. Until now.

David was walking beside her, at her pace but suddenly she stopped, yanking her hand from his and he turned in surprise.

“I can’t,” she only said, and he came to stand in front of her, his expression, patient and tender. “I can’t.”

He cupped her face, resting his forehead against hers. Her eyes were growing watery and she was shaking her head, desperately trying to pull away from him, to run away. He folded her into his arms, closing his eyes as he felt her shake uncontrollably against him.

“It’s okay, I'm right here, nothing is going to happen to you,” he murmured in her ear as she clutched his middle tightly. 

-x-x-

She wouldn’t meet his eyes when he sat down, pushing the fruity tea in front of her as he slid into the café seat opposite her. She was ashamed, he knew that. She was ashamed that she had panicked, that she was still suffering, and he hated that she was still suffering. She was ashamed that she needed to lean on him more than she wanted, yet all he wanted was to hold her up, to be her pillar of support if she’d only let him.

“I erm... I …" She tried to raise her eyes to his but couldn’t quite manage it, too afraid of the pity she might see.

He sipped on his coffee and leaned back into the chair. He knew well enough to let her come to him, to not push her to open up, but he really wished she’d let him in; it was frustrating being shut out by your own wife and only now realised how hard it must have been for Vicky. 

“Thank you … for today,” she said, finally meeting his glance. He faltered, the coffee cup halfway to his mouth.

“We’re in this together,” he said, reaching across the table and taking her hand. 


	10. Shower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Super short one shot of David taking care of Julia after the bomb (where she was not seriously injured)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you as ever for all the lovely comments!

The water cascaded down their joined bodies, warming the skin on his back as it trickled down to his feet. David brought the wet flannel to her face, wiping away the grime, the dust and the blood, from her skin and she let him, wordlessly. Her ears were still ringing, something she was told would fade, but it made her feel like she was underwater, and she hated it. She knew she was probably in shock, but she couldn’t remember getting here, how their naked bodies were so close together and wet, yet there was no passion, no sexual lust. Only tenderness.

When the image of all those people, covered in dust and debris, bloodied and some dead, flashed across her mind, she screwed her eyes up tight, trying to erase the memory of the past eighteen hours. But the flooding of adrenaline in her veins and the pounding in her chest didn’t cease and she started to cry. 

“Shhh,” he said in her ear, pressing a small kiss to her jaw as his hand rested comfortingly on her bare back. She clung to him, arms around his middle, her face buried in his shoulder. 

He reached around her for the shampoo bottle, squeezing out a generous amount into his hands. He rubbed them together before he touched her hair, spreading the lemon scented liquid into her scalp, careful not to linger on the jagged cut on her hairline at her temple. It was the first thing she’d smelt, besides him, that did not smell of copper and she suddenly felt sick at the rush it gave her. What was happening to her? She couldn’t understand the mess of emotions and hormones coursing through her.

David’s hands in her hair were soothing, calming and her heaving sobs calmed to small cries as she tightened her arms around him, desperate to cling onto something safe, something real. He applied pressure to her scalp, eager to remove even the faintest trace of blood and dust that could deepen her distress. Everything about him was soothing, calming and for the first time since she’d been pulled down from that stage, she stopped shaking. 

He shielded her eyes as he pulled the shower hose down, applying the flow directly to her head, washing away the shampoo suds. She saw the swirl of reddy brown as it circled the drain and tried not to think whose blood she’d been covered in, hers or the one who’d died to save her? When he replaced the head, he pulled the second bottle towards him, pouring conditioner into his palm before repeating the soothing massage over her head. She’d stopped crying now, focused only on the present, counting to ten over and over, listening to the sounds of the water hitting the pan, the feel of his fingers. 

He pulled the hose down, again rinsing the product from her hair in such an expert way she wondered how many times he’d done this for someone else before. When he was done, he let the water run down them, returning his arms around her back. She started to cry again, and he held her tighter against him.

When they laid in bed, side by side, facing one another in a mirror image of a moment they’d been in before, his hand rested on her waist. His head was close to hers, foreheads almost touching as he laid on his outstretched arm. 

“It’s going to be okay,” he said, his blue eyes glancing imploringly into hers. She only nodded.


	11. Merry Fucking Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas and New Year in the Budd family household.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my Christmas gift to Freya, Emmy, Meral, Jamie, Beth, Erin, Amber, Lily, and the others in the LODM group.  
> Happy Christmas All :) :)  
> Also thank you so much for the comments on all chapters :)

He couldn’t sleep. The sofa was too uncomfortable and lonely, the house too quiet. He stared at the ceiling, his hands entwined over his stomach, his fingers twitching as he drummed them to ward off boredom. He heard movement from the hallway, his old instincts never quite dying. 

David craned his neck, his eyes searching for the intruder to his solitary sulking. He bit his lip when he saw her, creeping into the room like a prowling panther. She didn’t say anything until she was almost on top of him and in the pale moonlight, he watched her run a hand through her hair.

“Can’t sleep?” he said, voice barely above a whisper. 

“No, I suspect you are experiencing the same?” she said, raising an eyebrow, her voice teasing. She shivered, her silk black slip doing nothing to protect her from the biting Scottish air.

“Mm,” he pulled back the covers around his waist, exposing his bare legs to the chill, his pelvis only protected by the thin black boxes he wore. She smiled and slid in, pressing herself as close to him as possible. “Oh my god your feet are freezing!” He almost let out a yelp when her leg crossed over his, her heel digging into the back of her calf.

“It’s a cold house,” she murmured as his arms wrapped around her, his face tucking into her neck. 

“Imagine growing up in it,” he chuckled lightly in her ear. 

“You’re hardier than me,” she teased. When she felt his lips pressing gently against her pulse, it suddenly got much warmer beneath the duvet. 

“Harder?” he said, pulling his head back from her, his face light with amusement. She sniggered, her hand trailing down his bicep.

“Hmmm,” she hummed, seeking out his face in the dark. He leaned in, his mouth hot against hers, his tongue darting out to run along her upper lip. 

He moved until she was beneath him, his weight propped up by his elbow, his knee parting her legs. She looked up at him expectantly, challenging him almost as he ran a hand along her thigh. Her skin prickled with goosebumps that had nothing to do with the cold when he moved to the inside, moving higher and higher before he reached the top where her hip joined her pelvis and he ran his fingertip along the hollow of it. 

She could feel him, hard between her legs and she frowned.

“Didn’t you say the walls in this house are paper thin?” she said, breathlessly. His hand dipped beneath her knickers and she yelped.

“Well then you best not make any noise then,” he said seductively, his mouth lowering to kiss her, swallowing her moan as he glided into her. 

He jerked into her, rolling his hips so he’d grind against her as he arched up, repeating the action over and over as she gripped his back, pressing him into her chest. 

“Uhh,” she grunted when he moved further into her than she thought physically possible. The noise sounded loud in the room silent save for their heavy breaths and she bit her lip to prevent it from erupting again. He watched her for several thrusts, her eyes screwed up tight, her teeth bearing down so hard on her flesh, he thought she’d go through it.

“Don’t bite your lip,” he said, and she released it, swollen and bruised from between her teeth. He sucked on it, soothing her sore skin, his kisses light and delicate. 

When he felt her clenching around him, and her pants were becoming more erratic, he bucked into her with hasty clumsiness, reaching his own end with a soundless groan. He could see in her face that she was at the point of no return and he put a hand over her mouth when he drove her towards the finish line, feeling her hot breath against his palm as he leaned his face close to hers, savouring the feel of her orgasm across all his senses. He reached in, kissing her forehead before he removed the hand from her mouth, her breath still erratic. It was an intense coupling, over in minutes after two nights apart driven mad by desire and lust, but no matter how many times he made her come, he still enjoyed the moments after when she looked at him, sated and desire giving way to love and drowsiness. 

David moved to her side, their legs never quite disentangling as he rolled her so that her back was against his chest, his arm secure around her middle. She traced the hairs on his forearm with her fingertips as he kissed her shoulder. 

“Merry Christmas,” he said in a low murmur, sure it must’ve been past midnight by then and she let out a loud laugh which trailed off when she closed her eyes. 

\--

It was still dark when he woke, his senses full of her. He smiled as she slept, swiping the hair back from her neck and touching his mouth to her jawline in a butterfly kiss.

“Wakey wakey,” he whispered in her ear and she stirred with a moan, pulling his arm tighter around her like a blanket. “Juuuuliiiiiaaaaa...” His voice was sing-songy.

“No,” she said, muffled by turning her face into the cushion. He let out a light chuckle.

“My mum will be up soon,” he said, and she groaned, her eyes creeping open. 

With a huff, she abruptly sat up, pulling herself from his embrace and sat on the edge of the sofa. 

His hand touched her thigh and she looked at him wryly.

“Don’t start that again,” she teased. He looked up at her and when she rose, she dipped her head down, murmuring, “Merry Christmas,” near his mouth before she kissed him and scooted out of the room. 

Less than half a minute later the door was opened again, and he grinned.

“Back for seconds-” he started, craning his head to come into direct eyeline with his mother. “Errr...” his face flushing until he was sure he looked like a tomato. “Morning mam.”

“Morning David, Merry Christmas,” her tone was a little stern and he winced as he dragged himself into a seated position, his hand covering his face when the room was flooded with bright light.

“Oh my god, mam!!!” he cried, his eyes burning, her chuckles fading as she stalked into the large farmhouse kitchen. He groaned and dragged his sorry self out of the comfy cocoon, pulling on the nearest pair of jeans and an old hoodie, running a hand through his bedraggled hair, attempting to make himself somewhat more presentable to his mother. It didn’t work; his hair stuck out in every direction and he yawned when he found her by the kettle.

“Merry Christmas, mam,” he said with a tired smile, moving around the breakfast counter to kiss her cheek. “Why are you up so early?” 

“I wanted to be up to watch the sunrise and to see the children when they get up,” she said, this small, hardy Scottish woman who was dwarfed by him.

The sun rose delicately over the frosty highlands, and no matter how many times he saw it, it was still one of David’s favourite things about coming home.  

“Morning, Susan,” Julia’s crystal cut voice was refreshed, clear, unlike his sleep addled voice.

“Good morning, Julia,” his mother handed her a cup of coffee which she accepted with a smile and David noted the look in Mrs Budd’s eyes. Something had not gone unnoticed. Her eyes and tone were pointed. “Did you sleep well?”

Julia nodded, momentarily stunned into silence. “Err, yes... yes I did, thank you.”

David took a long, slow gulp of his coffee.

“Good, I’m glad. I was awoken in the middle of the night, by some foxes or something. Rutting like bleeding animals they were.”

David choked, the coffee spluttering out his mouth as he desperately tried to avoid everyone’s eyes. When he finally looked at Julia, she had turned her head away, mouth twitching with the need to laugh.

“Erm, I … I didn’t hear anything, you sure you weren’t dreaming?” David stumbled, his face returning to the red tomato look. 

“No, I definitely was not,” his mother’s tone was stern, her eyebrow raised. He paled under her inquisitive glare.

“I’m going to-” Julia was saying, hooking her thumb behind her shoulder as she turned on her heel and fled the room. Coward, David thought.

“David. I’m not stupid,” Susan said, hands on hips as she tilted her head at him. 

He wiped at the coffee mark down his front and ignored her glance.

“I don’t know-” 

“I saw Julia going back to her room this morning,” she said unemotively. He suddenly felt like a naughty schoolboy.

“Ah, look... I know Dad wouldn’t-”

She held up her hand, her face giving way to light teasing. “Davey, you’re both adults, I wondered how long it would take you to start sneaking around, just like when you were seventeen, hmm?” 

He gave a smile sheepish smile, looking into his coffee. When he looked up, his mother was shaking her head with a chuckle.

“If you want, you can put the two singles together, I’d rather that then be woken up by your nightly escapades,” her tone was light, and David had never been so mortified in his life.

“Erm... okay. I’m just going to … err, before everyone else’s up,” he fumbled, the tips of his ears burning red as he relinquished his control on the cup and shuffled quickly to the door.

“David?” his mother said, halting him in the doorway. He turned, remaining quiet. “She makes you happy. I haven’t seen you really happy in a while.”

It was a statement not a question, and he felt his mouth curve into a smile. “Yeah, she does.” 

\---

“TEN, NINE, EIGHT-” 

The noise inside the pub was deafening. David clutched the champagne glass loosely as he held it up when everyone else did. He took a sip of the golden bubbly liquid, grimacing as it hit his tongue. He hated champagne, even if it was overpriced Bollinger. He looked from his sisters, their husbands, and finally his eyes set on her, so carefree, happy away from the pressures of their life in London.

“SEVEN, SIX, FIVE, FOUR-” 

He saw her in a different dress, walking towards him. And suddenly when he looked at her, he felt a certainty. When she looked at him, that sultry smile, his knees went weak and his stomach quivered. 

“THREE, TWO-” 

His heart thudded as the countdown continued, anxiety building in the pit of his stomach. His mouth was dry as the world around them melted away, the rest of the countdown muffled by the thundering of blood in his ears.

“ONE. HAPPY NEW YEAR!!” 

The entire pub erupted into cheers and couples looking to each other to kiss. He clinked his glass against Julia’s, his family’s and then he leaned in and pressed his mouth against hers, smiling against her.

“Happy New Year,” she murmured, eyes hooded and dreamy, when he moved his mouth millimetres away.

“Will you marry me?” he said only loud enough for her to hear. Her eyes flew open and she looked at him, uncharacteristically speechless. Her mouth opened in a silent question. He only smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't love it - but I had the idea and thought it was cute, until I got totally distracted writing it.


	12. Routine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He has a routine, one he both hates and needs, in the year following the explosion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's only short but it was something that's been on my mind for a long time.

He’d survived this far, three hundred and thirty days in a world where Julia Montague had ceased to exist. It had been pretty easy in fact. Easier than he could ever imagine. Moving on, living, surviving was easy. Until it wasn’t. 

Get up at seven

Feed the kids

Kiss Vick goodbye

Go to work

Come home 

Have dinner with his family

Fuck his wife (only at weekends) 

Go to bed

Rinse and repeat. 

He had a routine. His appointed counsellor had said this was the best way to overcome his PTSD. Some days it worked better than others. Today had not been one of those days. Work had been hell, a fumble of mistakes that he had to fix, resulting in hours of desk duty that everyone knew he hated paperwork. It had made for a miserable evening full of cold stares and empty conversation. 

Vicky had given up trying to draw him into conversation around the third time he missed her question and she’d had to repeat it. She turned her attention to the kids instead; he still missed everything she’d said, his mind on something he thought he had put to bed. 

The TV was on, some local news channel reporting the rise in gang related crime, but he wasn’t watching, his attention focused on the past, his head held up pensively by his hand. 

“Dave!?” a voice snapped at him and he whirled his head to face Vicky, staring down at him, hand on her hip.

“What?” he said, the fog clearing momentarily.

She sighed and rolled her eyes. “For god’s sake Dave, I said I'm going to bed.”

He considered what she was saying slowly.

“You should come up too,” she said, face set in hard concern.

It was part of their routine. David both needed and hated routine. It kept him alive, but it was also suffocating him. He knew that he missed the daring excitement that being with HER had brought him; he missed her. It was a revelation that had started to dawn on him in slow motion across the past day or so and now it had crept into his heart, crushing down on his chest. He missed Julia.

“I’ll be up in a little while,” he said, and Vicky turned away with a huff, mumbling ‘whatever’ under her breath. 

He watched her go before he pulled his iPad towards him, settling back into the cushions as he fired it up, the backlight illuminating half the dark room. He was on Youtube before he realised what he was doing, typing in some political debate into the search.

And then her face was there. On the screen, mouth moving in an impassioned rant he couldn’t hear. He fumbled for the volume, turning it up a few notches so he could hear her voice, angry and aggressive, but real. He touched her face on the screen, his fingertip brushing her cheek in a way he could never do again. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice thick. “I’m so sorry.” 

He dropped the tablet to his lap, screwing his eyes up as the tears fell like Niagra, pouring from his eyes like rain and the sobs split his chest in two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for this pretty depressing piece - blame Jamie who wanted an update desperately.


	13. Eradicating Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A follow up to 'Fear' where Julia tried to heal through therapy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written for Meral whom specifically requested this.  
> Thank you so much for recent reviews.

“My therapist thinks I’m afraid of...” Julia started, averting her eyes with a sigh. This was about her feelings, what she believed and thought. David waited patiently for her to continue. She wondered if he ever got fed up of waiting for her to tell him what she felt. “Sometimes I think we’re only still together because we met during trauma and...” the words she said were horribly foreign to her despite having been on her mind for months and her voice broke as she tried to speak around her greatest fear. “I’m scared that if I let go of everything, that I'll be letting go of you too.”

He looked at her sharply, something splitting his chest in two and he wanted to cry. He wondered just how he could have failed her enough that she would believe he was only there because of post-trauma survival instincts. Her eyes were wet with liquid pain and she recognised the look of horror.

“It’s not your fault,” she said. “It’s mine. And I’m just so tired, physically, mentally. I’m drowning, and I don’t know how to keep my head up.” Her voice was weak, cracking like glass. 

“But that’s what I'm here for, I'm your lifeboat,” he said, strained as he watched this strong woman falling apart in slow motion. 

“I know but it’s just-” she looked down at her lap, her hands swimming beneath her blurry eyes. “What if it’s true?” 

That felt like a gunshot to the stomach as he digested her words. She took his hesitance as something else and cleared her throat.

“I mean... we were always together in the wake of tragedy, and loneliness. And … we rushed so fast, we really don’t know each other, David,” she was saying, an ounce of her strength returning with the conviction of her words.

“I know how I feel,” he said defiantly. What the fuck was she doing? 

“You’re not listening to me!” she cried, his lack of understanding cutting through her.

“I am. I’m listening!” his voice was rising as the fear swept over him, constricting his throat so his words came out like strangled cries. 

“You’re not!” she said, a small sob breaking through and he wanted nothing more than to hug her, but adrenaline was shooting through him and he jumped to his feet instead, his breaths too quick for his brain to catch up and he felt suddenly lightheaded.

“I’m listening to my wife telling me that she thinks we’re not supposed to be together! That’s what I’m listening to!” he said. His voice was so pained and desperate, he had to turn away from her, his fist balled up over his mouth to prevent anything else coming out.

“That’s not what I’m saying,” she said it so quietly she wasn’t even sure she’d spoken aloud. Until she looked up and saw his face, suddenly pale, looking down at her, blue eyes swimming with unshed tears.

“What then?” he croaked, barely above a whimper. He had spent his whole life pushed and pulled between being strong and being a mess, and now he was falling right back into the contradictory pattern.

He watched her open her mouth, closing it again when she failed to find the words, his anxiety pushing beyond manageable levels. Why did it feel like she was pulling away from him?

“What then?!” he repeated, voice stronger, louder. 

“David...” she faltered, pain sweeping through her chest like a javelin lodged in her heart. She had wanted him to reassure her, to hold her and tell her it wasn’t true. But his reaction had been so extreme that she wished she’d never brought it up at all.

It hadn’t occurred to her that he had perhaps had this conversation before, that his anxiety came from a place of experience and was not unfounded. It didn’t cross her mind that Vicky might have left him in the face of his own trauma and so his extreme reaction was because he was scared of losing her too.

“I love you, why isn’t that enough?” he said, looking down at her feeble frame, a war of fight or flight raging in his mind.

“It is but-”

“Clearly it’s not!” he cried, biting his quivering lip. He wanted to say anything else, something to comfort her but he couldn’t force his brain to engage with his mouth and so he let his raw emotions run amok, even after he saw the hurt flicker in her eyes.

“You don’t understand,” she was saying, her own voice beginning to waiver.

“Don’t understand what? Don't understand trauma? Don’t understand mental illness? Fear? What?! What don’t I understand Julia?” he hated how angry he sounded, hated how she’d interpret it as aimed at her when it was aimed inwards, but he couldn’t form the words to tell her that.

“Just forget I said anything,” she said coldly, the iron clad walls shutting down around her as she rose from the sofa, passing him with a wide enough berth, she didn’t risk accidentally touching him. 

He watched her walk into their bedroom, his heart thundering against his ribcage, his mind screaming at him to say something, to apologise but as he opened his mouth, she was shutting the door, disappearing behind it and he suddenly felt like she was sand draining through his fingertips. He was losing her to something dark, to something he had been lost in for so long until she came along, that terror seized his mind, and muted his mouth.

Rage burned through him and he swiped at the nearest object to him, a crystal vase that went shattering across the floor in spectacular style. When she didn’t reappear, he grabbed his coat and keys, escaping the suffocating flat, only allowing himself to breathe when he was out on the street. 

He was running before he could register it, trying to outrun the pain, the past, the look on her face when he didn’t react how she wanted him to. He stopped abruptly, bending over to gasp in air. His lungs burned and his eyes stung so much he placed a hand over his face, letting out a scream that was half a snarl, half a wail of anguish.

“FUCKKKKK!” he wailed in the dark street. 

He trudged back to the flat far slower than he had run out of it, dread pounding in his chest. Perhaps this was it. She’d now tell him that they were never going to work. He’d had similar fears over the course of their relatively short relationship but looking at her, waking up next to her had always quelled them. Until she had admitted maybe they were both right; maybe they were too different.

He tried to push it from his mind as he took the stairs two at a time, hesitating only when he got to the front door, his key hovering over the lock. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and slid it in, pushing the door open sheepishly. Julia was bent over, a dustpan and brush in her hands, picking up the shattered pieces of the vase he’d destroyed. Their eyes connected and he could see her eyes were red. She dropped the brush into the pan and rose to her feet, her arms folded across her chest tightly.

“I’m sorry,” he fumbled, shoving the key into his jacket, just for something to do other than dwell on the feeling of finality passing between them.

“It’s fine, the vase was a shit present from my mother anyway,” she said dismissively, twisting her fingers together in a way he knew she did when she was anxious or overwhelmed.

“I didn’t mean-” 

“I know,” she cut him off, tilting her head to look at him expectantly. 

He lowered his glance to the floor; he hadn’t expected words to fail him the moment he crossed the threshold.

“I ruined my first marriage because I refused to get help for whatever was wrong with me. I watched her look at me with such disgust and pity when I cried and begged her to stay, to help me through it, that I...” he broke off to clear the lump growing in his throat. She watched him with her catlike eyes, but he refused to look at her. “I don’t find it easy to talk about how I feel because … when I tried, she still left me anyway, but I've been afraid, since the day we met that you’d realise I was never going to fit into your world. And I wanna be honourable, and say I'd step aside, if that’s what you want, save your reputation and all that. But I can’t. I can’t step aside and let you slip through my fingers.”

“I’m not asking you to,” she said when he took a breath long enough for her to speak. Her eyes bore into his, almost begging him to look at her but he couldn’t. “That wasn’t what I meant.”

“I’m listening,” he said, solemnly, and he meant it, his eyes finally meeting hers and she chewed her inner cheek.

“I don’t want that, I don’t want to keep thinking that; being afraid that the next time you walk through the door, you won’t come back... but we are so different...and I don’t think I've ever been this scared...” her voice, pained and broken, trailed off and he shook his head, crossing the room towards her.

“I’m not leaving,” he said defiantly and when she was standing within inches of him, he reached out, pulling her into his arms. “I’m not leaving.” 

Julia was slow to bring her arms up to embrace him, even as he tightened his hold on her, breathing in her hair as it grazed his nose and chin. But when he felt her arms around his back, he relaxed his tense shoulders, bringing a hand up to the back of her head, burying his fingers in her hair. 

“You can let go of all the shit, but I'm not going anywhere,” he murmured and she squeezed her eyes closed against his shoulder, her grip around him tightening. 

-x-x-

She picked at the popped seam. It seemed like she’d always been in this chair.

“I’m tired of being haunted by the ghost of Mike Travis,” she said, avoiding the glance of her therapist.

“How do you mean, haunted?” Doctor Harris leaned forward, his pen dangling between his finger and thumb. She faltered; she hadn't quite expected to cover so much ground in one session and she was unprepared for it.

“Everywhere I go, I see him. And Terry,” she said, her voice breaking, and he checked his notes, flicking through the past few weeks.

“So, these were the two people killed in front of you at-” he flicked his eyes down and up again. “Thornton Circus and St Matthew’s College, correct?” 

She resisted the urge to flinch when he spoke, choosing to lace her fingers together in her lap to cover the noticeably jerky movements of her anxiety. 

“Yes,” she said, holding her gaze on him, refusing to back down.

“Okay, so when you say you’re haunted, you mean...you see them and not just in your nightmares?” 

She raked a hand through her hair, massaging the back of her neck.

“Yes, I-” she swallowed. “Yes, they follow me around, day and night and I'm so tired of it.”

Doctor Harris sank back into his chair, a small smile pulling at his lips.

“We’ve made real progress today, Julia,” he said, looking at her over the top of his glasses. 

-x-x-

 _How to have the best sex of your life_ the headline screamed at David and he adjusted his position on the seat. Now he could see why Julia never bought Cosmopolitan; she was already getting the best sex of her life. The thought brought a smile to his face before he dowsed it, turning the page to a more demure article on ‘picking the perfect partner based on your horoscope’. He cast his glance along the page with a bored sigh before looking over at the magazine stack on the table wondering why there were no masculine ones. He was looking over the virtues of a Saturn moon rising for a Gemini when a woman sank into the seat beside him, dragging the nearest copy of Vogue towards her.

“Have you got the time?” she said abruptly, and he turned his head to look at her, coming face to face with unnaturally green eyes. He forewent pointing out the obvious clock at the end of the waiting room, and instead rolled his jumper up over his watch.

“11.47,” he said, holding the watch face for her to see and she smiled.

“Thank you,” she said with a smile, and he looked back down at the opened magazine on his lap. “Are you here for mental correction?”

“Sorry?” 

“You know – with the good head shrink? I’ve been coming ever since my divorce, hoping for a fix,” she was matter-of-fact, but her face was light. He would be a terrible police officer if he didn’t realise she was flirting with him.

“Err, no. Actually, I'm waiting for my wife,” he said with as polite a smile as he could muster and she felt silent, her mouth in an ‘o’ shape as the conversation died just as quickly as his will to live reading this magazine.

And then the door was opening at the end of the waiting room and Julia’s strained face appeared. He smiled at her as he chucked the magazine on the table and rose to his feet. His smile faltered somewhat when he saw her eyes were red, her cheeks blotchy; a telltale sign she’d been crying. She was shrugging herself into her coat by the time she reached him, and he put a hand on her back, guiding her out into the street.

“Alright?” he said, as they reached the car. The headlights flashed when he unlocked it and he had the driver’s door opened before she said anything.

“Mhm...” she said meekly, her hand hovering over the handle. “Can we go for a walk?” 

He jerked his head up, eyebrows raised. It was the first time she’d wanted to do anything else after a session, other than go home to bed. He didn’t say anything, too surprised by the invitation as he mutely shut the door again.

“Sure.”

-x-x-

The bench she sank onto was cold, but she didn’t seem to feel it, her glance fixed firmly at the ground, her hands tucked between her thighs. He moved around to sit beside her, feeling an uncertainty he was unused to. He couldn’t relax, not whilst she was tense and clearly not happy.  He wouldn’t push her, knew she needed time to come to him, but he felt an ache thudding in his chest, one that increased when she turned her head to look at him and he could see the pain in her eyes. He leaned in, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear, his hand resting on the base of her neck beneath her coat collar, and just touching her bare skin. His thumb swept over the nape of her neck in little circles.

“I erm...” she started, returning her glance to the floor. She stopped, her throat bobbing when she swallowed hard. She breathed in and he frowned as his cool fingers splayed out along her skin. “I’ve never told you that I see Mike … and Terry.”

He felt nausea rising in his stomach like a cold weight as he recognised her experiences as one he had had many times in the past.

“You mean...” he trailed off, unable to form the words, unable to bear the idea of her suffering with this alone for so long.

“Mmm, they follow me everywhere, reminding me that it’s my fault they’re-”

“This is not your fault, Julia!” he cried, a little louder than he meant to, his fist clenching at his side. “Their deaths are not on you.”

“But they are. If someone hadn’t have wanted to shoot me, Terry would still be here, and if someone hadn’t tried to blow up my stage, so would Mike. So it is on me,” her voice was strained and she took a shuddering breath before looking at him. 

“No, no it’s not on you. I know it feels like that, but I promise you, this is not on you. I spent years believing I was guilty for the death of my comrades, that I didn’t do enough to save them. But I know it’s not my fault, and I know it’s not your fault that Terry and Mike are dead,” he said, dipping his head so his words were only to her, even though they were alone. 

“I think that’s what I’ve been holding onto, why I can’t get better; because I’ve believed it should have been me-”

“Don’t ever believe you’re less worthy to be here,” he commanded, his hand moving from her neck to cup her cheek, his fingers tangled in her curls. She looked at him and he was saddened by the sight of the strongest woman he’d ever known, now broken in pieces right before him. “This is survivor guilt, but you will heal, and you WILL come through it, I promise you.”

She couldn’t speak around the lump in her throat and she couldn’t stop the tears dripping down her cheeks, shattering his heart like glass as he pulled her into his arms.

“Oh sweetheart,” he murmured against her hair as she cried into his shoulder, her fist balled up around his jacket, threatening never to let go. “It’s going to be fine.”

He let her cry until she was out of tears and she lifted her head from his shoulder and returned her glance to the frosty landscape of London. 

“Come on, I’m freezing my bollocks off and I'll buy you a coffee if you’re good,” he said, tone light and his face breaking into a smile he reserved only for her. She wiped a hand over her face and rolled her shoulders. 

“Hmm, you can buy me more than a coffee, Sergeant Budd,” she said wryly, a smirk on her mouth.

“There’s the Julia Montague everyone knows and loves,” he teased as he rose from the bench, holding his hand out to her. When she took it, he pulled her into him, so she was nestled against his side, dropping her hand to wrap it around her shoulders. “I might even treat you to a muffin.”


	14. Drabbles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just 2 tiny drabbles I wrote

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the reviews everyone!

**One**

She runs her hands over his back, her fingers dipping into the grooves that look like they should hurt. But she knows they don’t and when he shivers, it’s not because of pain but rather because the touch of her brushing over his past, feels like she’s reigniting his future. Her hazel eyes are full of wonderment, tenderness and love. And when she leans in and presses small kisses along his back, an unmapped war-torn country, he wants to claim her as his own, to live in this moment forever, brand her with the initials of their love. His blue eyes flicker over the face of his wife, strands of her brown hair falling into her eyes, and he thanks god they survived.

**Two**

The cello a-minor curled around the ballroom like the most elegant ballet dancer, gracefully sweeping from ear to ear, couple to couple and it rested on her tongue when she opened her mouth to whisper in his ear; a promise of later when the music’s stopped and they’re alone in her hotel room, naked and bound together like the decadent strings of a d-chord. He shivered at the prospect of dancing to their own rampant tune rather than this slow burn Bach serenade and he felt a burning in his lungs when her tongue flicked along his earlobe.


	15. The Last Hurrah

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He has failed once. He won't fail again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your reviews.

He’s in pain. It’s the first thing he realises when he wakes up and rolls onto his side. His head hurts from the thudding hangover beginning to build in his eyes, and his chest aches as he remembers the past forty-eight hours. When did he stop drinking? He can’t remember. Sometime in the nineteenth hour after he’d gotten back from the hospital. Blackness drifts over him, and he pulls the duvet over his head. Somewhere in here it still smells like her, the lingering scent of her perfume on the sheets, her pillow. He spies a single brunette strand of hair on the white and he’s convinced it would bring him to his knees if he was standing. He tries to stop the sob crawling out beneath his teeth, his eyes already red and sore. He’s not successful and it cracks out his mouth with pitiful weakness and he claps a fist over his mouth, screwing his face into the pillow. David Budd was not a man who likes crying. 

Over the sounds of his weeping, he can hear something vibrating on the bedside cabinet. He knows it’s his phone and he lets it ring for several minutes before pulling away his safety blanket and reaching over for it. He sees Vicky’s face and name flashing on the screen and he sighs, sinking into the pillows, staring at the ceiling before he leans over, swiping it in his hand.

“Hello?” he says eventually just before he’s sure she’ll hang up.

“Dave, I've been calling you for hours!” Her concerned voice is almost too heavy on his conscience.

“I was... asleep.” A half-truth. She’s not angry but her pity for him is almost worse.

“Listen... I know it’s been incredibly hard for you; the past two days and you KNOW I'm sorry about Julia, but I need to know-” He winces when she says her name and covers his eyes with his hand.

“I’m fine,” he says, and he can hear the disapproval across the air.

“No, you’re not, Dave, you called last night and said you couldn’t go on and to take care of the kids. Then you don’t answer for hours. How do you think I felt??” Her voice is rising in tone and the memory of that awful call comes flooding back, bringing with it a fresh pain that stings at his throat, and nausea.

“Listen... Vick... I'm sorry. I shouldn’t have put that on you, that was … inexplicable,” he says. And he means it, guilt burning through him as he realises he’s destroying another relationship. He’s not sure there’s anyone left. “I’m really sorry.”

She sighs on the other end. He imagines her rubbing her hand over her face, frustrated.

“No, you shouldn’t have. I know you’re hurting but, Jesus. I need you to promise me you’re not going to do anything stupid!” She hisses and the guilt intensifies as another door closes in his face. He's losing everyone and it’s his own fault.

“I’m going to the hospital, to see...to say goodbye, so I'll-” David stops to stifle a sob threatening to split his throat in two and he screws his eyes tight. “I’ll be okay.”

“Alright, well do you want me to come with you?” 

Her generosity knows no bounds, he thinks, and the thought couldn’t seem worse.

“No, no, I need to do this alone.” 

-x-

Alone. He’s alone now. Literally, as he sits in the waiting room surrounded by no one. Figuratively he’ll forever be alone. 

“Mr Budd?” 

His head snaps up to see a woman in a suit stalking over to him with a sympathetic smile and a brown envelope. He rises to meet her, his chest squeezing as he’s suddenly reminded of the way Julia walks towards him. At least until forty-eight hours ago.

“Hi, are you the woman I spoke to on the phone?” he says, though he doesn’t know why. Perhaps to just remind himself he has a voice. He sounds so weak.

“Err no, that was my colleague. I’m a grief counsellor and I’m-”

“I don’t want counselling, I want to see my wife!” he says sharply but she doesn’t bristle.

“Mr Budd, David. What you’ve been through has been a massive shock and my job is to take you down to see your wife and then we can have a discussion afterwards about how to move forward.” She’s kind, her eyes warm and her hand touching his arm, but he feels no comfort. Move forward? Onto what? A world without HER? It’s inconceivable. 

“Right.” 

“First thing’s first, this is for you. Your wife’s clothes unfortunately were...” her voice is lost in the ether as he feels the weight of the envelope. He can feel the imprint of her rings laying heavy at the bottom but rather than open it, he folds it into his pocket and watches as she rises and beckons him to follow her.

The room is cold. Julia hates the cold, he thinks. Hated. He clears his throat as he waits for a doctor to take over. 

“I’ll see you back in the waiting room when you’re finished, David,” the counsellor says with a last touch on his arm and he follows her halfway with his eyes before returning to the doctor.

“This way please, Mr Budd.” 

The man leads him on a winding path through the cold room until he stops by a set of fridges and David can’t help but wonder what lies behind all the doors. The door nearest to the doctor is wrenched open and a body covered with a white sheet is wheeled out and he feels sick, pulse pounding in his ears. When the sheet is pulled back, his breath catches, and he leans down onto the gurney, tears pressing at his eyes. 

“Can I have a-” he tries to say, and the doctor politely fades away. He looks back down at her, touching her hair with his thumb. Perhaps he shouldn’t have come. Maybe he would have been able to live in permanent denial but here, with her body cold beneath his touch, there is no denial.

David bends his head down and kisses Julia’s forehead, dripping tears onto her porcelain skin.

“I love you,” he murmurs, voice thick with desolation. When he pulls away to look at her face, he suddenly feels anger clawing at his chest.

Julia Montague survived a sniper assassination attempt. She survived a bomb blast. Most of all, she had survived a year and a half of marriage to him. And it was a single angry gunman who had gotten to her before he could throw himself in front of her. The thought enrages him as he looks down at her perfect face. It’s unfathomable that she should have no external damage aside from a single small bullet wound to her chest yet be lying dead. Life is not fair.

When David leaves her behind, he doesn’t bother going down for grief counselling.

-x-

A letter adorns the mantlepiece and he eyes it several times from his position on the sofa. He wrote it when he returned from the hospital and now, he wonders whether to rip it up. Vicky’s name is written upon it in a distressed scrawl and he is well aware of the words contained inside. He’s both familiar with and afraid of the gun sitting on the coffee table before him, afraid of the permanent solution. But he has failed, and it has cost him so dearly that he can’t focus on anything other than the great pain rippling through him. All his therapy, all his selfcare has come undone in a single afternoon.

David reaches into his pocket, pulling out the brown envelope he’d been handed. He takes a breath, tipping out the remains of his lover and wife, onto the glass top. A set of rings falls out first and he recognises them from the day he gave them to her, followed by the simple gold chain she wore every day that he had known her, which slinks out onto the table. He has failed in the most catastrophic way possible. He does not cry.

Instead he leans over and draws the gun into his hand.

He presses the muzzle to his temple and closes his eyes. 

He has failed once, and he won’t fail again.


	16. Finite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things are infinite. Others are finite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short little piece dedicated 100% to Freya :) :)  
> To everyone else - thank you so much for the reviews.

He'd never stop seeing her face. The way her eyes had flashed with devastation before being covered by anger. He hadn’t meant it. Of course he hadn’t.  _I don’t love you anymore._ It whirled around his head until it had become deafening, like his head was screaming at him to make it right. But he couldn’t. She was laid out on the bed, her head a myriad of bruises and cuts, none of which looked life threatening. But the tube in her throat told him that nothing was okay. She was not going to be okay.    
   
“She’s not breathing on her own, I’m so sorry,” the doctor had said, and David had been unwilling to hear it, unable to believe that Julia Montague, HIS Julia would not be fighting for her life, to survive, to come back to him.

But why would she? When she believed he’d stopped loving her. He screwed his eyes up as he gripped her lifeless hand tighter. 

“But I do, I do love you, I’ll always love you,” he murmured through thick tears that just wouldn’t stop coming. He raised a hand to her broken head, stroking her chestnut hair away from the eyes that he now realised would never open again. He’d never see the playful desire in the hazel pools as she looked at him and undressed him slowly with her eyes. 

Finite. It was all so finite and just as he thought they’d have a lifetime together, she’d gotten into a five-car pile-up and sustain “life altering injuries” on the morning of their biggest fight to date. David swallowed as he twirled a strand of her hair around his fingers. It was hardened with dried blood and he thought every memory they’d ever made would be marred by the image he had of her now. He tried to think of a time where she wasn’t covered in blood, with a fractured skull but even the picture of their first meeting, she was a walking corpse with a split head and hatred in her eyes. 

He sobbed into his closed fist and bent his head down to the floor, unable to bear witness to her last ‘breath’ as he leaned over and flicked the switch as had been decided earlier that day. The machines around him beeped in time to a symphony as he cried “I love you,” over and over in a strangled voice that would never be the same again. 

David wouldn’t leave Julia’s side for several hours, even when Vicky tried to talk him into coming away, to going home for sleep, to get something to eat. Anything. But he couldn’t go home. He had no home now because the only place he had was their place and all he could think about was the engagement ring box on the night stand, his apology on his tongue, waiting for her to come through the door from a long and shitty day at work. But she wouldn’t walk through their door and the engagement ring would gather dust when he couldn’t bear to return it. 

Final. Everything felt so fucking final.


	17. Choices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We all have to make choices.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not even sure what this is to be honest... but enjoy anyway lol.  
> (Written in about an hour and a half so apologies for it being a little meh)

“It’s Vicky,” he says, holding the phone out like a weird offering. 

Julia watches him from her position at the other end of the bed, the sheet pulled up over her to protect her from... what? Him? The cold air? She looks away from his questioning glance. Why is he asking her permission to answer the phone? It's his wife. She shrugs as if that’s the answer he needs, and he slides the phone to answer and turns away from her. From the way he’s positioned, she can see all the scars upon his back, the ones she had run her fingers over before following with her lips. The ones she has accepted where his wife hasn’t. 

“Hey Vick, is it the kids?” she hears him say as she picks at a piece of nonexistent lint on the cotton sheet. “Oh... right...”

Julia bites her lip, and she’s unsure if it’s irritation that’s rising in her, or something else that blooms and blossoms in her stomach, twisting inside her chest to ensnare her heart. What are they doing? She wonders. They can’t continue this clandestine event for much longer without either committing or parting. She’s not even sure which of these options is more daunting for her.

“Hang on a minute will you...” David is saying as he comes back in from the balcony. 

He holds the phone away from his hear and snug against his shoulder before he looks at her with something that seems like contrition. “Erm... Vicky wants to come over and discuss some things about the kids... it’ll probably be best if …" She notes that he can’t quite bring himself to tell her to fuck off like a cheap whore, but she gets the message loud and clear anyway and disentangles herself out of the bed, plucking various items of clothing as she goes. 

When she gets to her own room, he closes the door behind her, and she feels suddenly bitter. Julia Montague does not like feeling second best, or the one shut away as a dirty secret. Yet that is what this is, isn’t it? A dirty secret that would have to come to an end soon anyway. And if she can help him get through his trauma to be back with his family, then that’s a good thing surely? She should be happy she did some good. Except all she feels is hollow.

When she gets to her own bed, she touches herself to the sound of him talking to his wife. She can barely hear the woman’s meek voice, but she can pick out David’s heavy voice and she lets it carry her into a crashing orgasm that makes her feel more alone than she’s ever felt. 

-x-

Work prevails for the next week and though he yearns to talk to her, she seems to make sure the opportunity doesn’t arise between all her meetings and her very pointed avoidance of his eyeline.

Finally, in the lift down to their adjoining suites, he finds them alone and close for the first time in so long he’s forgotten what she smells like. Standing so close to him now, he easily remembers. 

“Vicky wants to try again,” he  says  and he can almost feel her stiffen beside him. He doesn’t know what he’s expecting but he’s  perturbed  when she doesn’t shout at him or slap his face.  Hell  he would even love to see her break that cold façade and cry. Anything to show he actually means something more to her than just some fuck-toy she will undoubtedly discard later.

“I’m happy for you,” she says as the lift doors open and she steps into the corridor, her scent momentarily distracting him before he follows.

“That’s all you’re going to say?” he hisses as they round the corridor, pulling her key from his pocket to open her door. 

She remains cold and quiet as they pass the other security detail on their floor and she leans close to him when he opens her door and what he wouldn’t do to be able to take her right there and then, have her screaming his name in the corridor. She moves away from him into the room and dumps her red case down on the side.

“What would you like me to say David?” she asks with a perfectly sculpted eyebrow raised and he feels a level of nausea that has nothing to do with food or lack of it. He wishes he meant more to her and  clearly,  he doesn’t. 

“Well I thought-” he starts, and she turns away, thumbing the side of the counter. 

“You thought wrong,” she says as she starts to pick up and replace various items on the tea trolley, discarding her blazer on a nearby chair. He notes the way she lets the tension leave her shoulders and he feels a spark of something. He’s not wrong. She does care. He’s sure of it.

He moves up behind her, slowly like a hunter closing in on prey and when she’s right up behind her, he can hear her unsteady breathing, feel the way her body responds to his intimate proximity. 

“I don’t think I did,” he whispers as he brushes the hair from her shoulder and dips his mouth to press the tiniest of kisses to her neck. This breaks her reverie and she  turns  to face him, face stony and flushed with anger. 

“How dare you! You don’t get to fuck me one last time before you go back to your happy little life!” she snarls, and he takes a step back.

David scoffs, letting her words wash over him. 

“Maybe I don’t want that?” he says, and she goes to roll her eyes, stopping only at the last second.

“I get it, you needed to feel less alone, until she  realised  she wanted you again, it’s fine David. It was never going to come to anything anyway, we both know that.” 

Her word cut him deep because it’s not what he wants to hear as she turns away from him, stopping at the mirrored vanity where he watches her body collapse under the weight of her burdens, and she  roughly  runs a hand through her hair.

“I want to move forward, not backwards.” When she looks at him, they both seem unclear what happens  next,  but he moves towards her anyway, because she is always making the first move, and this time she seems frozen to the spot. “My marriage is over. It was the moment we slept together. And not because of some moral bullshit code about cheating.”

She looks at him, hand dropping from her hair as he gets closer and closer. Uncertainty burns behind her brave facade and it’s the last thing he sees before he’s cupping her face, his thumb moving over her skin, as is lips move closer and closer to hers. Her mouth feels soft and almost despondent, until she melts into him and her mouth becomes a willing participant in their game as her tongue touches his and he pushes her back towards the counter. 

He’s lifting her onto it before she can register, she’s in the air and his hands are tangled in her hair, teeth nipping at her lower lip as she pulls back to help pull her trousers down. He does the rest; pulls her shirt up over her hair and sucking on her naked shoulder. Everything about her breathes power and magnificence, even down to her black lacey lingerie. He runs a hand over her bra strap, sliding it down her arm with his thumb before he reaches around to undo the clasp, her chin tilting up to kiss him. 

He lets her push his shirt to the ground and unzip his trousers until he’s standing in just a vest, and boxers; his cock hard, and pressing painfully against the fabric, desperate for extraction. 

He wants to keep her in control, but take things for himself as he nudges apart her knees, one hand in her hair, the other dancing over her bare thigh before sliding between her legs and running his hand over her folds, feeling her heat through the silky fabric. He dips a finger in, testing her readiness and boy is she ready! He thinks, as he holds the head of his cock against her entrance,  savouring  the feeling of her breath hot and rapid against his cheek. When he pushes in, she gasps inwards, her arm shooting out to clutch his shoulder as he reaches her very inner depths.

He begins to move in slow, long strokes before his thrusts start getting deeper, harder, faster and hungry for the  white-hot  release promised to them both. She pants steadily, her breath losing pace until he presses his mouth to hers, tongue exploring the inner recesses of her cheek, a terrain he knows well now and has mapped out expertly, but still enjoys the challenge of repeating the expedition to probe every part of her.

He presses kisses to her cheek, tries to land them to her jaw and neck as he pounds at her.

“I choose you,” he gruffly mutters against her thudding pulse and like a valve is released, she starts clenching around him, mere whimpers tumbling from her mouth as she unfolds in front of him, in a spectacular explosion of  colours , and quivering limbs. He hears a strange mewling sound that he’s surprised to discover is coming from her as she holds onto him, head lolling on his shoulder in her post-orgasmic exhaustion as he follows shortly after, spilling into her with a groan that is so animalistic, he’s almost embarrassed.

-x-

It’s barely light when she wakes but he’s still there, lying beside her, arm around her waist and warm. She turns over to look at him, the way his eyelids flutter when he dreams, and she runs her fingers over her bulging forearm. She hates feeling this vulnerable, this open to emotion but she can’t deny how she feels differently now he’s chosen her. Her alarm begins to shriek that it’s time to rise, to put on her  armour  for the day. 

Julia sighs and turns to silence it before she steals a look at him once more, his open eyes inquisitive, searching her face as she smiles, an expression she reserves just for him. She thinks of getting up, of starting the day and ending it in this bed, him beside her and she feels the closest to  happiness  she’s felt in such a long time. She takes his hand, brushes her lips against his knuckles before  lacing  their fingers.

“This is our choice,” he  says , running his thumb over the top of her hand.

“Our choice,” she echoes and reaches over to snooze the alarm, snuggling back down into the warm bed. 


End file.
